


Rationalising Mpreg

by sylc



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternative Perspective, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Canonical Character Death, Non-Canonical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 274,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25628056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylc/pseuds/sylc
Summary: Lindir, a former thrall, is forced against his will to become a witness in Sauron's trial on Taniquetil in the Fourth Age. Significant non-canon. Main pairings: Sauron/Lindir, Glorfindel/Lindir. Slash, MPreg (due to Sauron's experiments), Angst, Slavery, Noncon, Tentacles, Body manipulation, Mind control, Oral, Violence, Incest, Minor involved. Necrophilia. Bestiality. Character death.Originally posted from 2007 to 2010 on lotrfanfiction.com (now closed).Re-posted here on reader request.
Relationships: Glorfindel/Lindir (Tolkien), Lindir/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Lindir/Sauron
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapters 00-18

**Author's Note:**

> This story is significantly non-canon and was experimentally written with the aim of including every squick I could think of. It is intended only for adult readers.

Chapter 00

It was very hot.

Sheltering under a wilting linden tree and clutching three letters in his hand, King Ingwë stared up at the imposing figure of the elf who had, moments ago, appeared unannounced on the porch of his favourite courtyard. The elf had proceeded to approach him, crushing the already suffering grass beneath his boots as he had crossed the short distance between them.

King Ingwë squinted up at the elf for a few moments before deciding that he did not recognise him, although it did seem to him that the strangeness was not mutual. Indeed, the other's cold blue eyes gleamed down at him with almost unnatural familiarity. He shuddered, despite the sweltering heat.

"I am... sorry, but do I know you?" he said hesitantly. He glanced behind the elf in hope that one of his servants would suddenly appear to help him out.

A smile twitched at the corners of the taller elf's lips. His lips moved to reply and at that moment, a merciful breeze suddenly disturbed the drooping blossoms on the linden's branches above them. Round yellow petals drifted down between them, adding their sweet-scents to the already drowsy mood of the afternoon. Ingwë tried to follow the words by reading the stranger's lips, but then the other's silvery hair drifted across his face. Then the breeze passed. The tresses settled themselves back around the other's face.

"I am sorry," Ingwë said. "I did not catch that."

"I said that you know me quite well, Ingwë," the strange elf said in his soft laughing voice. His eyes narrowed and the Vanya King thought that he now saw a blue flame flickering gently in their depths. Ingwë's brow knitted and he swallowed nervously.

"Am I about to hear bad news or good news?" he ventured, knowing now with whom he was speaking.

The taller smiled broadly. "That depends on you, Child," he replied. "I do not know what reaction to expect of you. I am only the messenger."

"I think you could make a very good guess, Eönwë," Ingwë said crisply, shooting the Maia a sharp, irritated look. "But I already know the answer. I know that as a leader, I prefer to deliver good news personally and bad news through a servant. It reflects poorly on oneself if one is the deliverer of bad news."

Eönwë tilted his head. The fire in his eyes stirred and entered a crazed dance of mirth. "My Lord Manwë has a request to make of you," he said amusedly.

"Will it take long?" Ingwë grumbled, not liking the sound of this at all.

"Again, that depends on your personal response to the message," Eönwë said. "All..."

"My point being," Ingwë interrupted, "that I do not want to stand out here in this awful heat and learn even worse news than I have already received through these dreadful letters." He shook the three letters in Eönwë's face. "My relatives seem to think that I am the omphalos of petty complaints."

"Then why are you out here, Ingwë?" Eönwë spread his hands. "I only came to this place because of your presence."

"So I have only myself to blame? I am not the one who controls the weather!" Ingwë snapped, glowering up at the Maia. "Nay, this garden seemed to be the only place where I could stand and think in peace and quiet. But that peace and quiet is only achievable here because of the heat," he acknowledged grudgingly.

Eönwë looked up thoughtfully at the heartless blue sky that stared down at them like a fresh palette of pastel paints. "It reminds me..." he said thoughtfully, "of the birth of the sun without the moon to relieve her from her station." Then he laughed and shook his head amusedly. "Would you like me to coax down a breeze from Taniquetil to cool your mood, Little Vanya? Shall I invoke a taste of Winter to accompany your icy tongue?"

"I wonder what would cool your condescension," Ingwë muttered. He waved his arm in resignation. "Aye, bring down a breeze. Hopefully it will deafen me so that I do not have to hear this dreadful news that you are about to unburden on my already troubled mind."

Eönwë nodded and as he did so, Ingwë felt another breeze stir up and the temperature begin to cool. He exhaled in relief and gazed more peaceably up at the Maia. "Thank you," he said gratefully. "Now you may begin the delivery of your bad news."

"As you wish." Eönwë put his hands behind his back and straightened importantly, his smile fading as he sobered himself up for his delivery. "As you are aware," he began, "Sauron, the abhorred, was defeated by the free folk of Middle-Earth some years ago."

"I...aye." Ingwë nodded warily. "And?"

"Sauron, former servant and successor to Melkor, better known as Morgoth to your people." Eönwë watched Ingwë wince slightly at the mention of the second name and paused before continuing, a smile on his face. "Recently, it was determined that Sauron, as was done with Melkor before him, would be trialed for his crimes."

Ingwë bit back his words that Melkor's trial did very little to cure the troubles that he had caused and that he sincerely doubted that Sauron's trial would be very different. He gazed sourly up at the blue-clad Eönwë. "So he will be trialed? And what... does this imply for us?" he said. "For my household and my people?" he clarified.

Eönwë waved away the question and continued his message. "As you also know, since Sauron's defeat, many hundreds of elves have sailed from Middle-Earth to the shores of these lands. It is Lord Manwë's request that you, as the recognised high leader of the Elves of Valinor, summon the citizens who have had past dealings with Sauron to your halls before next Spring and, if they are willing to act as witnesses in the trial, they will be led to the court at Taniquetil."

Ingwë stared at him in incredulity. "You... you mean the trial is to be conducted on Taniquetil?" he spluttered. He turned his head and looked up at the white-capped mountain that towered over his halls. "That creature is to be brought here? HERE?"

"Sauron is already here... has been here for the last season," Eönwë said sharply, watching Ingwë's face turning a strange mottled colour. "He has and will cause your citizens no problems; he is securely guarded. All that we require is that you summon the elves that have had dealings with Sauron to your halls. We will do the rest."

"And if I refuse?" Ingwë bit out.

"If you refuse, we shall consider the elves of Valinor in opposition to the trial." Eönwë's eyes narrowed. "And bereft of the cooperation and resources of the elves, our access to witnesses will be greatly reduced, which will, in all probability, decrease the severity of Sauron's punishment." His eyes twinkled at Ingwë's horrified look. "Perhaps he will even be allowed bail from court."

"That is blackmail."

"All eyes are on you, Your Highness," Eönwë replied, bowing deeply. "I wish you well."

As Ingwë looked on, the strange elf's body seemed to crumble and fall away into the round linden petals that already circled them. Then the breeze picked up and the yellow blossoms scattered into the air, tossed hither and thither before the wind disappeared once more and the petals fell exhaustedly to the grass.

Ingwë watched the linden tree begin to wilt again. The temperature rose back to its original temperature. The sky glared down at him.

He sighed and turned to wander back into the more substantial shelter of his house.

Chapter 01

It was barely dawn and Glorfindel was already irritated and to make matters worse, he was irritated that he was irritated. Since his return to his homelands in Valinor a few years ago, it seemed that his temper was under a perpetually short fuse and as he agitatedly reread the letter that he currently held in his hand, he suspected that this agitation was more than likely due to the fact that he was, in fact, in his homelands.

Relatives are quite the ulcer sometimes, he thought as he turned, eyes still on the letter, to stalk into the library of his residence in the City of Tirion. A residence that he and his family was actually borrowing off of an old friend, an old friend who had a considerably cooler and brighter head than him when it came to career choices and decided that rather than squander his resources on returning to the war-torn lands of Middle-Earth and playing patball with orc heads, he would instead invest it in property. Oh yes, Ecthelion had done very well.

Glorfindel threw himself into the high backed chair before the empty fireplace and put his slippered feet up onto the leather ottoman, sparing the letter a moment's respite from the invisible daggers that he was shooting at it to glance at the fireplace and wonder if he could burn it and claim ignorance to the letter's existence.

Probably not. So with a resigned air, he picked up the bell on the tiny ornate table beside him, rang it, and told the servant who promptly appeared through a panelled door in the room to summon Lindir and the two of their children (though only one of his own blood) that were currently guests in the house down to him.

"And if they ask for a reason?" the servant asked, reminding Glorfindel that neither of the children in question were likely to be content with a simple unexplained invitation and that one in particular were more than likely to conduct a cold and suspicious interrogation of their messengers. Naturally, this one was of Glorfindel's blood.

"A letter arrived in the night. My grandfather, Ingwë, has invited us to his halls," Glorfindel said, putting the open letter face down on the table and putting the bell on top of a fold in the parchment. He absently fiddled with the collar of his velvet dressing gown, drawing it closer to his neck. "He wishes to meet us."

"Understood. And will there be anything else?"

"Breakfast for the four of us."

"Very good, My Lord." The servant quietly left, pulling the panelled door shut behind him, hiding both his and the door's existence from Glorfindel's eyes in an instant. Glorfindel's gaze slid unwillingly back to the letter. A pit of unease had opened up in his stomach ever since he had woken up when it was still dark and come down to find the messenger awaiting him at the front door, clad in the livery of Ingwë's household, letter in hand. Very few words had been exchanged, Glorfindel had been in too much shock and the messenger had seemed pressed for time. Only now did Glorfindel wish that he had read the letter in front of the messenger and demanded answers from him -- a clue as to why Ingwë wished to see him now... and with Lindir and their children in tow. Now, he felt bereft and knew that he would feel even moreso after his children were done with him shortly. He would surely look like a hypocrite to them. To make it clear to them that he had severed ties with Ingwë as a result of his blackening the family name and then to suddenly declare that all relations were well and that they should trot off cheerfully and obediently to Ingwë's halls to pay their respects to his grandparents, parents, and various uncles, aunts, and many cousins.

Of course, he could refuse to go, but where would that lead them? Refusing to attend to the wishes of the King of the Elves of Elvenhome and his more blessed progeny when he now resided and probably would reside in their realm until the world was utterly changed, was not something even Glorfindel could think to disobey. It would be political and financial suicide if one of Ingwë's relatives decided to take up a vengeful stance against him... something that he did not put past them. There was plenty of fat on the fire: his involvement with the crimes of the Noldor -- a kindred to which his loyalties were less binding than to the Vanyar, his refusal to remain in Valinor on his resurrection and settle down to a pious life with a reputable bride. And now, more recently, a family born out of wedlock, children that weren't his own, and a male partner who had spent most of his years in thralldom in Mordor.

Hearing movement in the upstairs bedrooms, footsteps on the stairwells, he shut his eyes and exhaled. There was nothing that he could do about it now. He would simply have to settle for looking like a hypocrite and feeling ridiculous before his children -- and that was nothing new. He smiled at the thought. Parenthood is indeed a cruel lesson in one's own hypocrisy. He slid his eyes open and turned his eyes towards the library's main doors, to regard the first arrival of those he summoned. Unsurprisingly, it was Lindir, the diminutive elf wrapped in the white dressing gown that had been earlier hanging alongside Glorfindel's own gown near their bedroom's door. Smiling brightly, he slipped over to Glorfindel's chair to lean down and kiss him quickly, then peer over him at the letter on the ornate table, his long hair, tousled and unbraided, fell over his shoulders and draped across Glorfindel's arms and lap. Glorfindel stuck an arm out and pulled Lindir onto his lap where the smaller elf cheerfully settled, still peering curiously at the letter.

"We received a letter? Is that it?" Lindir nodded at the letter and Glorfindel obligingly slid it out from beneath the bell and handed it to him, simultaneously wrapping his other arm tighter around him, pulling him back against his chest. As Lindir read it, two other elves appeared at the doors to the library. One elf was tall and fair haired -- one of their sons, Glingal. The other, a maiden, was small and delicate -- their only daughter, Linden, though not Glorfindel's in blood.

"You called us?" Glingal asked as he walked over, grabbing two cushioned seats on his way. He set them down beside Glorfindel, between him and the fireplace, and ushered his sister into the one closest to Glorfindel and Lindir, the latter of whom passed the letter to her with a smile. "Bad news usually comes swiftly and at strange hours; I do hope this is not bad news."

"To tell the truth, I do not have the foggiest idea of how to take this letter," Glorfindel said, watching Linden's brow knit as she absorbed the letter's contents. "It is concise and extremely vague. I am half of a mind to send it back requesting he rewrite it and clarify himself, but he demands to see us before Spring, which requires that we leave within the next fortnight unless we wish to battle the Winter."

"You jest about sending it back, I hope. And that sounds like an urgent request," Linden said as she passed the letter to Glingal. "And you have no clue as to why he might have called for us all?"

"Unless he has had a sudden and miraculous turn of heart towards accepting me back into his house, then I have no idea," Glorfindel said. "And I doubt that that miracle has taken place; I rather think he would do such a thing, if at all, in small steps. As in he would accept me first, then accept my children by blood, then Lindir, and so on."

"You are not thinking of refusing it, I hope?" she asked. "That would not be a wise venture, though I suspect it has crossed your mind, considering the impression you give us of your relationship with them. I rather thought that our family would never be granted the dignity of acknowledgement, much less acceptance."

Ah, the blessed time for ridicule. Glorfindel was almost disappointed that they seemed not to notice or care about his show of hypocrisy. He smiled tightly. "I agree with you; it would be most unwise." He watched Glingal refold the letter and lean forward to place it on the ottoman. "What do you think, Glingal?"

"I am thinking that this letter, in light of what you just said, is neither an invitation nor a request," Glingal said slowly as he leaned back in his chair, his elbows on the arms. "But it seems unreasonable for him to order you to summon the five of us siblings within the next two weeks. Why, only Linden and I are in Tirion. I suppose we could contact Laiglas, but Gloredhel and Lindo are travelling and untraceable."

"I will send word to Laiglas in Alqualondë. He may know the whereabouts of Lindo," Lindir said, referring to his own two sons -- sons not related in blood to Glorfindel. "And Gloredhel..." He spoke now of the other son besides Glingal that he shared with Glorfindel. ..."Gloredhel is Gloredhel. Perhaps Laiglas will have heard something with his sharp ears. If they can not make it, hopefully King Ingwë will understand the situation."

"He will have to understand it," Glorfindel said, watching the panelled door reopen and a few servants enter with trays of pastries and jugs of tea, an unignorable intrusion of sights and smells. "So we are agreed to travel together at the end of next week?" he asked, sensing his audience's attention shifting towards the distraction. "There are no pressing engagements for the three of you?"

Linden nodded. "No engagements for me -- I will come."

"As will I," Glingal said.

"And I am offended that you did not already know my schedule," Lindir said with a laugh. Glorfindel looked at him and laughed softly.

"I like to think I do, but thought it politer to pretend that I was less curious about the way in which my beloved spends his time and I am certain that despite my efforts, you still have clandestine activities that elude me." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lindir's cheek. "Now will you answer my question?"

"Certainly. I will come."

~*~

They set out the following week as planned. Besides Glorfindel, Lindir, only Glingal, Linden, and Laiglas accompanied them. While Gloredhel had been still untraceable by the end of the fortnight, Lindo had been too far away to be able to make it back to Tirion in time for the date of departure.

King Ingwë's halls were located at the foot of the mountain known as Taniquetil, atop of which were located the halls of the King and Queen of the Valar, Manwë and Varda. The foot of the mountain was some two weeks swift journeying by horseback from Tirion, but as they were in a horsedrawn closed carriage with a driver and in no real haste, Glorfindel estimated that it would take them about three weeks.

Now, already just over two weeks into the journey, Glorfindel found himself sitting beside Glingal in the carriage opposite of a sleeping Lindir and two of the three children that he adopted along with the elf: Laiglas and Linden, who was also asleep. Laiglas was the eldest of all their children and the tallest and lankiest by far... as well as being unarguably the most disagreeable, at least towards Glorfindel. He sat in the windowseat beside the door, his milk-white angular face and black eyes glaring at the view, tinted faintly orange by the light of the setting sun. Bony arms folded, black hair tightly braided back into severe unadorned plaits, his mouth drawn into a tight pout, he looked as sour and aloof as Glorfindel ever remembered him, possibly even more severe.

Maybe Alqualondë disagreed with him, Glorfindel thought and he found himself wondering what Laiglas had been doing there at all. Lindir had mentioned something of his visiting the memorials of the slain elves killed at the end of the First Age of the Sun, visiting various sites on the Gulf, and following the trail of the flight of the Noldor. Not that Laiglas had inherited any blood that had rightful interest in such morbid history. Or perhaps he did -- as Lindir's eldest son, he had, after all, spent the longest time of all of them (save Lindir) in thralldom. In many senses, Glorfindel wished that Laiglas had refrained from accompanying them on this trip. The elf was mentally brilliant, certainly, even Elrond had marvelled at his ability to learn when the elf had been a student in Imladris, but so cold socially that Glorfindel was definite that he would be a terribly caustic addition in Ingwë's halls.

Ah well. At least Ingwë would be seeing the worst of the family along with the best. A decent cross-section, though it would help to have the more adventurous and rowdy Glingal and Lindo both here to rouse up some warmth. He turned his head and looked at Lindir and Linden, who were leaning on one another as they slept, then to Glingal beside him. His son caught his eye and smiled at him. "Father," he said.

"Aye?" Glorfindel smiled back at him. Opposite, Laiglas stirred to look unsmilingly at them and then returned his attention to the countryside. One of his black braids fell forward over his shoulder and into his lap. Glorfindel absently admired the heavy silken tresses.

"Did you grow up in Ingwë's halls?" Glingal asked.

Glorfindel shook his head, still looking at Laiglas. "No," he said distractedly. "I went there when I was a newborn and when I reached my majority. If I had been married here..." He paused and gave a sour laugh. "Correction -- if I had decided to wed a bride that met the approval of His Highness, then I suppose that that wedding would take place in the halls as well."

"Are the halls very grand? Grander than the ones in Tirion?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Grand in a different sense," he said. "It looks a deceptively simple place, but you will feel the blessings of the Ainur on that... place." Across from them, Laiglas looked at him again and blinked slowly, no expression in his black eyes. Glorfindel felt his smile fade. Then Laiglas stretched a bony arm around Lindir and, as Lindir stirred, bent towards him and said in his soft level voice.

"We are in sight of the next rest stop."

"Oh?" Lindir straightened and looked around to the window to smile when he saw that what Laiglas had said was true and that they were already in the small town. "Oh, we have travelled quite a way! How long have I slept?"

"You began to doze just after noon," Glorfindel supplied gently, watching a still unsmiling Laiglas reach over Lindir to grasp Linden's shoulder, shaking her awake as well. As her eyes focused, she spotted Glingal across from her and answered his grin with a mischievous, sleepy grin. "Brother," she greeted, before turning her head to nod at Glorfindel and Laiglas. Glorfindel nodded in response; he was fond of Linden and her whimsical, playful manner and bright smile. Of all their children, he fancied that she most resembled Lindir. As the carriage shook to a halt before the largest of the town's inns, his eyes shifted back to Lindir, who met his gaze and smiled brightly. Glorfindel returned the smile.

The doors were opened and they stepped out of the carriage to be greeted by the inn's owner and ushered to their rooms, Glorfindel bringing up the rear. As they passed through the hallway, he happened to glance into the parlour and abruptly halted when when he spotted a familiar face seated at a far table before a modest supper. Astonishment transformed to delight and he slipped away unnoticed from his company to go over to the table and, when he drew alongside the other person in question, playfully reached down and waved his hand in front of the other's brooding face. "Well this is an unexpected meeting, my friend," he said, chuckling when the other started and looked up at him, eyes widening in amazement.

"Glorfindel! What do you do here?"

"I wish to ask you the same question, Elrond," Glorfindel responded, pecking him quickly on the cheek before pulling out the seat beside Elrond and dropping gracefully into it. He noted that his former lord was clad in tunic and breeches beneath his deep blue cloak. "Are you alone?" He glanced around the parlour, then looked back to see the other give a quick nod. His smile faded slightly. "I assume that you are also a traveller in transit so where lies your destination?"

"I am headed to King Ingwë's halls. And you? Are you alone and to where are you headed?"

"Ah, what a coincidence! We happen to share the same destination. My party are also headed to Ingwë's halls," Glorfindel responded cheerfully. "I am here with Lindir, Laiglas, Linden, and Glingal; we were invited there to attend him." Then he frowned and tilted his head. "May I learn why you are headed there? I was unaware that you were close to him or his family... save to me, of course. Oh, but as you are alone, perhaps it is not a social visit? Or maybe Celebrían is already in the halls or otherwise occupied in Tirion?"

"That is correct. It is not a social visit, much as I would wish it otherwise. I am travelling alone as Celebrían declined the invite. His highness requested that we visit him on a matter which is not for open discussion."

"Oh?" Glorfindel's brow knitted. He could not think of any reason for Ingwë to call for Elrond on a matter that warranted secrecy. Curious to hear this matter, he suggested, "should we move somewhere more private?"

Elrond reached out and slid an empty wine cup across the table to him, shifted slightly in his seat so that he leaned forward towards him. "Judging from your tone of voice, I suppose you do not know already know why I have been summoned to his halls," he said quietly, picking up the bottle set in the middle of the table and tilting it to pour out and fill the cup with the golden liquid.

"That is true; thus, my burning curiosity."

"Hmph." Smiling, Elrond pushed the cup towards Glorfindel, who nodded his thanks. "Maybe I am being presumptuous about your relationship with Ingwë, but it strikes me as strange that Lindir has been invited as well as you; I already knew that Ingwë was on poor relations with you, but I thought that that relationship was worsened as a result of your partnership with him."

"That is also true." Glorfindel picked up the cup, then recalled his initial question and put it down again. "But enough about me. Am I allowed to learn the reason for your visit to Ingwë's halls, perhaps in a private room if not out here?"

His brow knit when Elrond shook his head. "No. I am afraid I have been asked to speak of this matter with no one, not even to you, though perhaps His Highness will agree to reveal the reason to you once you arrive; I am sorry."

"Oh, no, no. There is no need for you to apologise." Glorfindel said, waving his hand dismissively. "Anyway, as you are still in the middle of your meal, may I call down the rest of my party so that we may dine together?" He picked up his cup and over the rim, observed Elrond smile gratefully, the tension suddenly melting from his face.

"Please do." Elrond said. "I would greatly appreciate the company."

~*~

Not long after Elrond excused himself from the table and headed out of the parlour, Glorfindel followed suit. He had sensed, in spite of the other's cheerful manner during the meal, that there was something troubling Elrond. That it had something to do with the reason why Elrond was travelling alone to Ingwë's halls was almost certain and Glorfindel still hoped to discover the reason... or at least a clue... as to this important and secretive matter.

He caught Elrond at the foot of the stairs. "Elrond. May we speak more in private?"

"Yes. Follow me," Elrond beckoned him with a wave of his hand as he proceeded up the stairs to his rooms. "I apologise for my subdued behaviour," he added as he opened the door to his rooms and entered, holding the door open for Glorfindel. "I was distracted."

Glorfindel smiled. "Ah, I do not think most of us noticed. Though I must say that your mood only increases my intense curiousity to find out why Ingwë summoned you to his halls."

"Ha! I am sure." Elrond snorted and closed the door. "But Glorfindel, if that is the only reason why you are here, then you will be solely disappointed; I have zero intention of telling you a jot about my mission." He turned and went over to one of the windows, which faced north. Glorfindel followed his gaze to the lights in the far distance beneath the looming shape of the mountain of Taniquetil. After a pause, he walked over to stand behind him and put his chin on Elrond's shoulder. Elrond stiffened, looked sidelong at his smiling expression in surprise, then snorted again, a smile on his face.

"Not even a hint?" Glorfindel asked amusedly.

"Why did Ingwë summon you; does he wish for reconciliation?"

Elrond was obviously trying to distract him and Glorfindel obliged him. "Ah, I doubt it," he said, shifting his chin so that he faced the view and the distant lights. "If he did, I doubt that he would have expressed himself in such a sudden way as to encourage me to agree to reconcile with him."

"I see. It has been a long time since you last spoke to him face to face, is it not?"

Glorfindel's smile faded. "Yes. Many, many centuries. Many millenia, actually. I did not see him after my resurrection."

There was a silence, then Elrond suddenly said, "do you never sway in your adamance that he will not heed your interests above his own and his household's reputation?" His voice was soft.

Another silence. Then Glorfindel smiled again and admitted, "I do." This time, his smile was wistful. "I often sway..."

"You never show it; I even feared that you would be angered at my question."

"You feared?" Glorfindel made an amused noise in his throat and wrapped his arms playfully around Elrond's waist. "Ho? So you have desired to ask this question of me before, then, but refrained? You surprise me, Elrond."

"I do not think you realise how much I dare not unsettle those around me with forward questions about their values and their past, especially those who I fear to lose. I am not one who can be forgiven for prying questions. Indeed, I imagine that I appear suspicious when I do ask such questions." He paused, then continued, "You have never struck me as one who likes to speak in detail about such intimate thoughts, at least not in my presence, so I have never raised a discussion about them with you."

Glorfindel's eyes softened. "I see. Well, I have had little need to think about my own values for many years now... not since I took my oath with Lindir and even then it was only in my fleeting doubt about the suitability of our match, which was, as I still think, entirely absurd and yet just right for me. Perhaps he was my salvation from the uncertainty that provokes such contemplation; I never seem to find opportunity to do anything save marvel at his love for me." He smiled wistfully. "I have heard that there is no such thing as unconditional love from a spouse, certainly nothing to rival the love between mother and son, but I think I may have found such a love."

There was yet another silence. Then Elrond stirred. "You say that, but..." Elrond's voice was soft. "How much... do you actually know about Lindir?"

"Eh?" Glorfindel blinked. "Well..."

There was a sudden knock at the door, interrupting their conversation. Glorfindel straightened, releasing Elrond from his embrace, who looked around. "Enter!" he called. When the door opened to admit Lindir, Glorfindel smiled.

"Ah, forgive me, Elrond," Lindir said, bowing slightly. "But seeing as you are travelling alone, I thought that you might like to travel with us. You would be most welcome."

"Ah, yes. You are most welcome," Glorfindel said, looking at Elrond, who was smiling at Lindir. "But I think you would have your own carriage, surely?"

"I do," Elrond said, glancing at him before looking back at Lindir. "But Lindir is right; it is lonesome travelling alone. So how about we split the party between the two carriages?"

~*~

The following day, the party split up into two groups. After some deliberation, it was decided that Elrond, Glorfindel, and Lindir would travel in one carriage and the siblings Glingal, Laiglas, and Linden in the other carriage. This worked nicely as while it allowed Elrond, Glorfindel, and Lindir opportunity to catch up while the siblings were also kept content in each other's company.

It was a little cramped in Elrond's carriage as the half-elf had, for some reason, seen fit to load up the seats opposite with bundles of parchment. Lindir, ever polite, had not even seemed to notice the bundles as he climbed in and took a seat at the far end, pulling his white cloak about him and gracefully crossing his legs. Glorfindel was less polite -- his friendship with Elrond had given him a certain amount of brazenness when it came to Elrond's work.

"Medical notes pilfered from Imladris?" he asked a few hours into the journey, flipping through the pages of one of the bundles that he had picked up from the seat opposite him. "I do not recognise them." And... before Elrond could speak to reply, he suddenly looked at the stamp that decorated the base of some of the papers. "Ah, this would explain why. Though I am curious to know why you have notes compiled by the wood-elven healers of Northern Mirkwood. They are not as skilled as the Imladris healers. Why not bring your own notes?"

"You mean Greenwood," Elrond corrected, looking slightly irritated. "And they do happen to be mine; they were given to me."

"What? To try to worsen, rather than heal, the ailments of Imladrian elves?" Glorfindel asked with a forced straight face. He and Lindir laughed when Elrond scowled and stuck out an elbow and got him in the ribs. "Very well, very well. It surprises me that you brought them with you to Elvenhome. Why not leave them in Imladris? Are you trying to spread Mirkwood's poor healing techniques to these lands as well? That will not make you popular."

"I have left copies in Imladris, but I rather think that their usefulness is almost finished," Elrond said, reaching over and tugging the bundle out of Glorfindel's hands. "As the former chief healer of Imladris, I thought it my responsibility to bring this knowledge to Elvenhome where it may be preserved."

"As a memory of the paucity of the skills of the Northern Mirkwood healers," Glorfindel said, snatching the bundle back and flipping it back open. "You insult them, Elrond." He chuckled when Elrond nudged him again. "So what is so special about these notes? How to cure a patient by bleeding them? How to effectively remove gangrenous limbs with a wood-elven saw and a bottle of the Elf-King's best red wine?"

"You incorrigable pest," Elrond said. "You are the one insulting them. Read the title of the bundle."

Grinning, Glorfindel obligingly did so. His smile faded somewhat. "Oh."

"What is it?" Lindir asked from where he sat on Glorfindel's other side. Glorfindel handed the bundle to him and after reading the title, Lindir started to flick through the pages at a slower pace than that used by his spouse, his interest apparently caught and held by the subject matter. Glorfindel looked back at Elrond, who was watching Lindir with a faint frown on his face.

"You do not want him to read it?" Glorfindel asked after a moment. Lindir looked up and blinked.

Elrond looked at him and his face relaxed. "Ah, he may read it, of course. I was curious to see his reaction; the matter does concern his condition, after all. It was more common in Northern Mirkwood due to the realm's proximity to Dol Guldur, but due to our mutual agreement to share our healing knowledge, they sent these notes to me. I was thankful for them when Lindir first arrived in Imladris. But now, I suspect -- I hope -- that the number of cases is on the decrease."

"That is unlikely if the healers do not bother to operate on the victim and the victim's male children," Glorfindel said. "And as you said yourself, you do not know what will happen should Linden have children. She may be a carrier."

"I rather... think that most of the sufferers have either perished and are being cured in the Halls of Waiting or are in Elvenhome, which makes the preservation of these notes all the more vital," Elrond said. "There is no elvish community of which I have heard tell that admits former thralls of Sauron and Morgoth, regardless of whether or not they have been victims of their torture, without ostracism and restrictions on their further movements. You know this all too well. Those that have been touched by this condition are named cursed and there are few sanctuaries that permit the entry of the cursed."

Glorfindel's face sobered and he turned his head to look at Lindir's subdued expression. They certainly knew this. Even Lindir had not been able to enter Imladris until after extensive negotiations on Mithrandir's part with Elrond. And when Lindir, heavily pregnant with Linden, had been admitted to the realm as a temporary patient, although there had been no express rule about how he and his two children should interact with the other residents, Lindir had later told him that there was a palpable barrier that he had felt between himself, his children, and everything that was Imladris.

"And Ingwë asked you to bring these notes with you?"

"In a sense," Elrond said, leaning back in his seat and propping a foot up on the opposite seat. "Can we change the subject?"

Glorfindel smiled, guessing that he was treading too closely to the reason for Elrond's invite to Ingwë's halls, and obligingly did so. And for the remainder of the next four days of the journey to the foot of the mountain that was called Taniquetil, there was little conversation of consequence.

It was late morning when they at last arrived within sight of the foot of Taniquetil and as Glorfindel caught a glimpse of the distant city, of the many hundreds of white roofs gleaming and glittering under the sunlight nestled in the midst of the flower-dotted greensward that swept the base of the mountain, he stiffened. Not even thinking through what he was doing, he suddenly shouted for the driver to halt.

"What is it?" Elrond asked in bewilderment when as soon as the horses were drawn to the side of the road, Glorfindel pushed past him and opened the door to clambour out of the velvety confined space. He sprang out onto the grass on the side of the road, almost falling over onto his knees into the gleaming grass and heads of bobbing white daises, so stiff were his legs from the long journey. He pushed himself forward against the cool breeze -- nay, lurched like one intoxicated, one hand outstretched on the side of the carriage, supporting his weight. The sunshine was warm on his face, the smell... Yavanna, the smell was... he raised his face to inhale the warmth... the heady sweetness.

"Is this a familiar viewing spot to you?" Elrond called from behind him. Glorfindel heard the carriage shift as first Elrond, then Lindir climbed out, and then he felt Lindir's long hand slip through his arm, the elf's soft hair brush against his arm. He looked down and found Lindir smiling up at him.

"It is Spring out here, though Autumn lies behind us," Lindir said, his hair fluttering slightly in the breeze, soft strands tickling Glorfindel's arm. "And the blossoms are in flower as if they have not done so for many centuries, though I suspect that this place has seen more of Spring than the rest of Valinor. Is that the influence of your people or higher powers?" His gaze slid to look pointedly at the towering mountain, its snow-covered top hidden in a passing cloud.

"It is probably due to the latter, I suspect, though many Vanyar are sworn to the service of the Valar," Glorfindel said, following his gaze. "I had... forgotten about this place." Or rather, he had forgotten about how this place so stirred his heart. And here, he surprised himself at how true seemed the words, at how such an admittance could exist, though how and why he had forgotten he did not know... could not recall. His gaze returned to the gleaming city and he scanned its centre, found the centremost and tallest building in which he knew his grandfather awaited them.

Perhaps this is what it means to come home. Even though I never grew up in this place.

He started when cool fingers brushed over his cheeks, focused on Lindir's slender fingers and saw that the ends were wet. "You are crying," Lindir said, looking up at him, his brow knit in a slight frown.

Glorfindel smiled, hearing the other carriage drawing to a halt behind them. "Crying with wonder," he answered, sliding his arm around Lindir's waist, cupping the hand of the other on the elf's cheek, and leaning down to kiss him. "I have come home."

Chapter 02

The company arrived at the doorsteps of Ingwë's halls just after noon. There, they alighted from their carriages and their luggage was unladen by some of the elves who had been standing and waiting for them on the broad white stairs that led to the wide open doors of Ingwë's halls. Of the remaining elves who were more nobly dressed, a few of them stepped forward to greet them and welcome them to the halls.

"His Highness, King Ingwë, is unable to see you presently," they said. "He offers his apologies and will see you at supper. Until then, he wishes for you to wash and rest. Rooms and baths have been prepared for you. Please follow us."

They were led into the front hall and there, separated up. Glorfindel was faintly surprised that he and Lindir would not be sharing the same rooms, but supposed, as he watched the servants lead Lindir and Elrond away to the northwards wing, that although this was a plain demonstration of his family's feelings about their relationship, it would be best not to protest such an arrangement at the current time.

"Lord Glorfindel, Lady Linden, Lord Laiglas, your rooms are this way."

"Ah, yes," Glorfindel turned, Linden on his arm, and started to follow them down another passageway. Linden was asking questions, both of him and the servants, and he was distracted both by this and by the view out of the tall windows that lined one side of the corridor and looked out at the courtyard gardens, filled with linden trees. He had assumed Laiglas was behind them and was therefore surprised when they reached a corner and the servants on glancing at them, halted, frowning.

"Where is Lord Laiglas?"

Glorfindel and Linden both turned to look behind them for Laiglas's gaunt sullen form. "I have no seen him since we arrived," Glorfindel said with a frown. "Perhaps he went with Lindir's group by mistake?"

"No," Linden said. "I saw him outside, in conversation with the driver of our carriage." She turned her head and smiled at the servants, who were looking anxious. "Perhaps he is still there?"

The guides exchanged a look. "I will search for him," one of them said and he turned and walked back in the direction of the front hall.

"I do apologise," Glorfindel said then.

"Oh, no, please do not apologise," the remaining guides said. "Come. We will show you to your rooms now."

~*~

It had been some time since first Glingal, then Elrond had been led away down separate passageways that stemmed off of the wing and Lindir was starting to feel uncomfortable in the silence that had welled up between him and the two remaining guides. He fretted for something to say for a while and then, when he decided that his own ideas for words had failed him, turned his head and looked around the passageway. They had left behind the windows to the various courtyard gardens some time ago and now he could only distract himself with the bare walls.

But then he noticed a painting ahead of them... and more beyond that one. Quickly drawing up all that he had ever learnt about the history of the Vanyar elves, he paused beside this first one, intending to admire it and perhaps ask the servants about it. But when he set eyes on the painting and saw an endless forest of swaying beech trees staring back at him, the darkness beneath their canopies full of a palpable, gaping, menace, he swallowed and turned away. Perhaps not that one.

It almost looks like Mirkwood around Dol Guldur, he thought as he arrived at the next one. He halted there, but on looking up, his eyes widened in dismay and he turned away again. For those surely were the crumbled buildings of Eregion, lying freshly torn asunder beneath a pitiless blue sky and in the shadows of mountains garbed in the blood red colour of seregon blossoms.

At the next painting, his fears were again confirmed, but this time, he did not turn away. Halting before it, he stared at it, feeling inexplicably drawn to the black tower standing tall and proud in the midst of the eroded wastelands. The grey acrid dust that was swirling before the vision of the painter who stood between the north gates and the sleepless, yet strangely silent Barad-dur seemed so palpable that he could taste it in his mouth, feel it on his skin, digging into the cracks of his clothing.

"Lord Lindir, please come this way." Only it was not his guides who had spoken. And their voices were not soft and fair, but guttural and harsh. He looked at them, standing on the path of broken white stones... and on seeing their disfigured faces, old and new sores festering with infection, he looked away, feeling bile in his throat, tears in his eyes.

"Come," one of his guides croaked, and when Lindir raised his eyes and looked back at their hunched forms, he heard a cracking noise and he looked down at their feet again... at the stones. Only, they were not stones, but old bones, swept up from beneath the thin soil by the ceaseless wind, which was still picking dust out of the crevasses.

The other guide moved forward and took his arm in a hand that felt rent with scars and blisters, that felt as if it were falling apart with decay. Lindir dared not look down at it as he followed him onto the path, onto the bones, and onwards. He looked up at the tower as they neared, its tall carven shape wavery through his tears. Above them, the clouded sky was heavy, pregnant with the filth that spewed forth from the lands. He lowered his eyes.

"You are resigned to it, then?" A voice said suddenly from behind him.

Unlike the voices of his guides, this one was different... clearer... harder... colder. He spun around in their grip, turned to stare at the tall elf who stood behind them, his icy blue eyes seeming to pierce straight through him, the depths filled with an accusatory fire, his silver hair fluttering in the stagnant air; grey on grey -- he almost looked a part of it, a part of that cruel painting. Lindir felt his knees weakening beneath the gaze, felt it scanning his body, searing through his flesh, through his soul, crushing him... exorcising him with that light. He staggered and would have fallen to the ground were not his guides holding him up.

"You have nothing to say on this matter?"

What matter? Lindir wondered wildly, not daring to look up at the elf, not daring to face that gaze. He cringed when he heard the elf step closer, heard the bones crack and grind beneath his boots. Cold fingers slipped beneath his chin to raise it and he closed his eyes, waiting, wincing, his tears running hot and fast down his cheeks, soaking down his collar. He choked.

"You would let them take you back here?" the elf breathed, his breath cold and acrid on Lindir's face... just like the smoky breeze. Lindir shivered. "You would not resist them? You would not even look back at the northern gates to notice the absent guards?" He slid his hand up to cup Lindir's cheek, run his thumb through the flow of tears. "Why? What are these locked secrets of yours that elude even my eyes, that you hide even from yourself?" His hand suddenly dropped from Lindir's face, down to press over his heart and Lindir's eyes flew open, their depths panicked even as another hand whipped out and seized the intruder's hand, shoved him backwards over the wooden floor towards the windows that lined the corridor of the wing. The vision had fled.

"Get away from him!" Laiglas snarled, his voice shaking with anger and with another deeper, more strained emotion that made Lindir burst into fresh tears. His support had stepped away from him and he sunk limply to his knees on the floor, wrapping his arms around his shaking body, bending over himself.

"None of you are elves," Laiglas said furiously, standing over him. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Eönwë, servant of the Lord and Lady," the intruder replied. "And these are servants of Lord Irmo. We wished to speak to Lord Lindir."

"You do not need disciples of the Vala Irmo, Master of Dreams to merely speak to him." Laiglas voice was shaking. "Nor do you need to drive him into such a state. What did you want from him?"

"There is a seal on his memories, something that we are at needs to break. But I see now is not the time. Excuse us." Lindir raised his head to watch the elves bow to Laiglas, then turn to leave them. Before Eönwë turned away, however, the Maia shot him another piercing look and Lindir winced, knowing then that Eönwë had not finished with him. Then Eönwë turned and walked away, the two guides flanking him. He lowered his gaze back to the floor of Ingwë's halls.

After a pause, he heard Laiglas stir and watched his feet shift to turn towards him. "Lindir. Here."

Lindir looked up to see Laiglas holding out his hand to him and he reached up and took it, letting Laiglas pull him to his feet and into his embrace.

"You are unhurt?" Laiglas voice was soft in his ear, his arms tight around him.

"Aye." Lindir closed his eyes and breathed deep, comforted by the familiar smell. "Did you follow me?"

"We sensed something amiss -- Linden and I." Laiglas kissed the top of his head. "Come. You will not stay alone in this place -- I will take you to my rooms."

"Nay. Take me to Glorfindel's rooms."

"Eh? But..."

"Please," Lindir whispered.

Laiglas exhaled, his chest relaxing. "As you wish." His hold loosened and he reached down to take Lindir's hand. "But I advise you to not walk alone with or without strangers while you are in this place -- the air here is unsettled. Come. We will take the path through the courtyards -- the lindens are beautiful out there."

~*~

Glorfindel had no sooner been left alone in the parlour of his rooms then he heard the door open. He turned around and stiffened, intaking his breath in an audible hiss when he saw a small Vanya elf in white robes closing the door. Even from behind, in plain unofficial clothes, his hair tied back in a simple braid, and without his crown, Glorfindel recognised the aura around him. When the elf turned and looked at him, he swallowed and knelt, bowing his head.

"Your Highness."

"Lord Glorfindel," Ingwë responded in his soft voice as he walked towards him. He passed him and went over to the windows behind Glorfindel where he halted, gazing at the gardens outside. "Forgive me for failing to greet your company at the same time. I wished to speak to you in private before I meet the rest of your company."

"I-I see." Glorfindel was unsure of how to take this excuse. He sat up and cast him a sidelong look, scanned Ingwë's closed face, the eyes gazing listlessly out at the swaying lindens. Then he frowned -- this was not the animated Ingwë that he remembered. "Is something wrong, Sire?"

"I miss the autumn flowers," Ingwë said, turning around and sitting down on the cushioned seat immediately below the window. "The spring has been endless since the end of last summer, though it is anything but spring in the hearts of the citizens. And you may be at ease, Child." He waved his hand.

Glorfindel silently rose and took a seat opposite him.

"Glorfindel." Ingwë turned his head and looked back out of the window. "Let me make myself clear now. I did not summon you and your family here for the purpose of reconciliation. As far as the official council is concerned, there is no Glorfindel in this household. You do not exist in this family, have not done so since that night. Nothing has changed from when I made the council's opinion clear to you on your rebirth."

"I understand." Glorfindel knew that he was referring to the kinslaying, when he had first taken up the sword and participated in the slaughter at the docks of Alqualondë.

"But... neither did I send the summons with the direct intention of splitting your family or crushing your current happiness. Though you are not accepted by the council in your current state, this by no means implies that members of this family do not still love you and wish for your happiness."

Glorfindel swallowed, felt his shoulders relax even though he had not noticed them stiffen. "Thank you."

"I said 'direct' so do not thank me," Ingwë said quietly, turning his head to look back at the view, his face tense. "Let me also make it clear that if I had been able to avoid this meeting, avoid writing that summons, avoid dredging up the past between us and between you and Lindir and instead continue to let us go our separate ways, I would have done so." He looked down at some linden petals that were lying on the window sill, fluttering slightly in the breeze outside.

"Dredging up the past between Lindir... and I?"

Ingwë closed his eyes. "Last summer, I was ordered to summon those elves who have had dealings with Sauron, the Abhorred, who is currently on trial for his crimes. The Valar wish to question them."

"And... Lindir, Laiglas, Linden, and... Lindo are part of this group?"

Ingwë nodded slightly, his eyes sliding open, their depths opaque to scrutiny. "The elves who associated with and/or were victims of Sauron in the First Age of the Sun are already here -- already being questioned. I am currently summoning the elves of the Second Age."

"And... Elrond?"

"Has had extensive contact with the victims as he is a healer." Ingwë stiffened as if he had seen something outside the windows.

"I see. Is something the matter?" Glorfindel frowned when Ingwë rose, indicating that he intended to leave.

"Aye. It is likely that you will all be staying here for some time," Ingwë said distractedly.

"That is assuming that Lindir will agree to cooperate with the questioners," Glorfindel said as he also rose. Inwardly, he knew that Lindir would refuse. "He has related all of his knowledge many times to Elrond -- for the benefit of Imladris' defences, so I do not think that there is a reason to keep him here anyway."

"Perhaps." Ingwë replied softly, inclining his head as he headed to the door. "I must go. I will see you at supper."

"We will talk more on this later," Glorfindel said.

"Undoubtedly," Ingwë said, a sour tone in his voice. And then the door shut and Glorfindel was alone again. He sighed and raised a hand to run it through his hair. Should he tell Lindir? Lindir would undoubtedly find out at some point. But was sooner better than later? He did not wish to give Lindir a reason for concern.

His answer came when there was a sudden knock on the door and after calling for the other to enter, Glorfindel observed Laiglas open the door and usher a smiling Lindir into the room. Glorfindel's automatic smile faded slightly when he saw the pale colour in Lindir's cheeks. Perhaps he should wait until later. He looked at Laiglas, who met his gaze briefly before looking back to Lindir.

"Then... I will leave you both," he said quietly. Lindir spun around to look at him.

"Oh, you are not coming in?" When Laiglas just smiled slightly, Lindir faltered and nodded. "Ah, well thank you."

"No problem."

As soon as the door was shut, Glorfindel walked over to Lindir and bent slightly to look the other elf in the face. Lindir tilted his head, blinking confusedly when Glorfindel frowned. "Glorfindel?"

"Is something wrong?" Glorfindel said, reaching up and cupping the other's cheek in his palm. "You look very pale."

Lindir smiled. "I am a little tired."

Glorfindel studied him for a little longer, then smiled and leaned in to peck him gently on the lips. "I was about to visit one of the baths at the end of this passageway -- the servants should have drawn it by now," he said as he drew back. "Perhaps we can discuss this there?"

"Aye."

The bath that had been prepared for them was one of a number of baths that lay at the very end of Glorfindel's wing. The outermost ones were open air due to their enormous pane-less windows, which looked out over the sloping gardens on the southern perimeter of the King's gardens. The innermost ones were closed, though wide doors led from the outer baths to the inner ones, which were usually left open when the baths were in use.

When they arrived, the servant that was waiting for them showed them to one of the inner baths, which was filled and steaming with white opaque waters. It was deserted and the servant, before Glorfindel dismissed him, assured them that it would stay that way until they were finished. Then, after helping them with their showers, he left.

"You still do not wish to talk about it?" Glorfindel asked when they were in the waters. Lindir nodded as he waded over to a seat beside Glorfindel. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. Glorfindel scanned his expression, the curve of his neck, the water running in slow trails down Lindir's narrow torso, and was tempted to bend down and follow their path with his mouth -- to seduce him, but when he was about to lean over, Lindir sighed, his voice coloured with real exhaustion. So Glorfindel smiled and instead leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Lindir's eyes slid open and the elf smiled sleepily at him.

"You should head back to your room," Glorfindel said softly. "You look about to fall asleep."

"A little longer," Lindir said and he leaned back comfortably, his eyes idly watching the steam that rose in lazy tendrils from the warm water.

~*~

Lindir smiled when he noticed that Glorfindel's eyes had unfocused.

And he tells me that I am about to fall asleep, he thought amusedly as he reached out to wake the elf. His hand halted and then he dropped his hand back into the bath. Considering Glorfindel was only half in the bath and supervised in case he did fall into the water, he would be fine. Lindir did not want to have to leave this bath quite yet. He raised his right hand and snorted softly when he saw the faint wrinkles that had appeared in his fingers.

He dropped his hand back into the water. But if I am not careful I will fall asleep myself. He looked back at Glorfindel and was about to reach out and wake him when he heard the splashing of water in the outermost bath beyond the doors. He stiffened, glanced at Glorfindel, who was still asleep, then pushed himself up and out of the bath.

"Who is it?" he called softly, wrapping a towel around his waist. He peered through the open doors and around the soft bath robes hanging on the wall and froze when he saw Eönwë sitting in the transparent waters of the outside bath -- the Maia was leaning back, his silver hair lying loose and trailing in the waters, his eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep, a covered basket near his head.

Lindir hesitated, then, recalling Laiglas's warning, turned and was about to return to the innermost bath to wake Glorfindel up and urge him to leave with him for Glorfindel's rooms when he heard Eönwë speak.

"The servants of Irmo are no where in sight, Lindir," the Maia said softly. "Come here. I want to speak to you."

Lindir looked back and swallowed when the Maia's eyes slid open ever so slightly, enough to hide their expression and light. "I can hear you perfectly well from here," he replied.

"As can Glorfindel if he wakens. Do you want him to know what I know about you?"

Lindir hesitated again. "I-I do not have to stay here at all," he said. "I do not have to listen to you."

"Neither do I have to keep what I know about your past a secret from Glorfindel." Eönwë's eyes widened and their depths held a cold warning. "Nor do I have to keep the identities of the fathers of Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden hidden from both them and you -- your relationship with Glorfindel could be torn asunder in a moment. Now come here and sit down!" His face softened when the elf, his face very pale and tight, stalked over and climbed into the bath beside him. Lindir winced and turned his head away when the Maia reached down and ripped the wet towel from him, tossing the material to one side with a heavy slap onto the tiled floor.

"Relax," Eönwë said calmly, leaning back.

"I need to keep an eye on Glorfindel," Lindir said. "He is asleep."

"I am already watching him," Eönwë said softly.

Lindir stiffened at the insinuation in those words -- that Eönwë had been watching them. And he may well have been the one who caused Glorfindel to fall asleep. He glanced uncomfortably at the Maia and quickly away when the other met his eyes and smirked. "What do you want to speak about? Speak plainly!"

"Plainly?" Eönwë smiled, his head dipping slightly as he pushed himself further up, the tresses that were dry over his shoulders falling forward slightly. "As you wish, Child." He suddenly reached out and wrapped his arm around Lindir, who stiffened. "Sauron is on trial before the Valar. Are you willing to let the court peruse your memories of your time with him?"

In the ensuing silence, Lindir stared absently at the rising bath steam, the still waters... Eönwë's arm was warm around him. He considered questioning the Maia further on the matter, but realised, finally, that such questions were irrelevant to helping him make up his mind. He turned his head towards the open doors that led back to the inner bath; wondered if he should have said something to Glorfindel of what had happened earlier or said something to let the elf know of his crippling terror earlier at the hands of Eönwë and the Vala Irmo's servants.

"Lindir?" Eönwë's voice pressed him from his thoughts.

There was no reason to hesitate. He had stuck to the same story even before he had been discovered by Mithrandir in Dol Guldur. He had kept his memories sealed away, hidden from even his own thoughts, and had been kept safe. Why then should he seek to change his current situation? "I decline."

He looked back at Eönwë when he sensed the Maia lean closer to him, shivered when he felt the other's breath against his cheek, warm and humid like the steam. As Eönwë did so, Lindir heard him reaching with his other arm for the basket. He would have looked around him to find out what he was doing, but he did not dare to look the Maia in the face, to face that piercing gaze.

"Unfortunately for you, Lindir, that was when I spoke plainly," Eönwë whispered. "The fuller discussion has less room for choice on your part." And he held forth what he had brought out of the basket.

Lindir fell back as if he had been punched, all colour draining from his face, eyes filling with a panicked hysteria as he looked on what Eönwë held dripping in his hand before him, in the air above his thighs, so low that the silky ends of the sluggish, white tentacles were almost touching the steaming water. The warmth of the steam... or was it perhaps Lindir's proximity... seemed to be waking it up. Eönwë's arm slipped around him further, his hand moving to cover his mouth, feeling the quickening in the elf's shallow breathing -- the elf's terror.

"I believe that Elrond operated on you to relieve you of your condition," he said softly in his ear, his breath tickling the elf's skin. "Perhaps that is part of the reason why you can ignore your past. The Valar would like to remind you, however, that the past is not something that can so easily be rejected." As he said so, he lowered his hand so that his knuckles touched the water, the ripples lapping gently at his pale skin and the base of the creature, drawing away the white secretions.

At the touch of the water, the creature seemed to stir even more as its tentacles lengthened, descending down into the water to lick curiously at the top of the elf's thighs, which attempted to jerk backwards, though with no place to flee to on the narrow seat. Lindir started to speak, a plea for cessation, perhaps even agreement to Eönwë's message, but it was muffled, rendered indisciperable beneath Eönwë hand.

"Draw your legs up."

Lindir shook his head violently, crying out when the tentacles, now agitated, started to lick over more intimate flesh, probing between the elf's thighs. When Lindir's body spasmed with fright, the elf's arms flying out wildly to scrabble at him, Eönwë, feeling tears on his fingers, pulled the elf firmly against his chest and released the creature onto the elf's lap where it whipped away between the elf's legs, to claim the elf's entrance and bury itself into the flesh beyond that place. In his arms, Lindir screamed, his body convulsing, pain rippling through his limbs, white light exploding behind his eyes.

The last thing that Lindir remembered before he blacked out was the colour of blood seeping into the water from below and the red droplets dripping from the slashes on Eönwë's chest.

Chapter 03

When Lindir awoke, he discovered that he was still in the outer bathroom. He had been moved out of the waters and laid on the floor. A folded robe pillowed his head and he had been wrapped in another of these robes. He blinked slowly, staring up at the carven ceiling and the stone arches that swept over it, from wall to wall, from wall to the columns at the open windows. Steam drifted in the air, which smelt warm, but not heavy, and the breeze that occasionally draughted through the windows and down to him smell of lindens from the outside gardens.

He wondered what time it was – it was still light. His entire body felt numb and hot from its ordeal, but not pained, which surprised him – he remembered more pain. Perhaps it was because he was staying in the one place. If he moved and agitated his core, it would surely be excruciating… But as he tried to raise his right hand... and then his left... and then gingerly pushed himself up, he discovered much to his surprise that beyond a few twinges that made him hiss and a waxing in the heated throbbing in his abdomen, he felt somewhat... tolerable. He winced when he felt the creature, disturbed by the movement, shift sluggishly within him.

He considered this peculiarity for a few moments, licking his lips... and then blinked, distracted by the taste of blood in his mouth. Had he bitten himself? He ran his tongue over his gums and lips, searching for a cut, but on finding nothing, dismissed it and turned his thoughts back to what had just transpired in the bath. He looked at it -- watched the steam floating slowly through the air -- his thoughts returning to Eönwë's words to him -- Eönwë's request. What a drastic move on their part! He did not know how to interpret their interest in him – why were they so agitated to learn what he knew of Sauron's activities? Had they found no one else to tell them what he had seen? Not even Sauron?

His eyes widened when he suddenly heard footsteps in the innermost room and the soft thud as a door out there was closed.

"Ah, Eönwë." The voice sounded faintly like Glorfindel's – it had the same clear ringing tone, but it was higher… and softer. It was coloured with anxiousness. "You are not watching him?"

"There is… was no need. He was asleep until a few moments ago," Eönwë responded. There was the sound of water splashing as though the Maia were climbing out of the bath, then the sound of material sliding, a sash being tied on a robe. Lindir frowned. "Is there a problem?"

" 'Is there a problem?' you ask?" the other sounded terse. "I wish to know what you intend to do with Lindir. Is he to remain in these halls? If so, how do you intend to explain and justify his state to them? And do not smirk at me, Eönwë. This is far from a laughing matter."

"Indeed, Child." Eönwë's voice was coloured with amusement. "I think that Lindir should be kept separate from his family for the moment. They will try to protect him and prevent our access to him."

"And your answers to my other questions? If Lindir suddenly disappears without an explanation, Glorfindel will surely tear the peace of this place apart and disturb the other witnesses. And I do not know what his children will do. That Laiglas is a strange one."

My halls? Lindir ran his tongue absently over his lips again, wincing when he tasted blood again. Was that King Ingwë himself out there, then? Glorfindel's grandfather, father of his father?

I advise you to not walk alone with or without strangers while you are in this place.

So it was as Laiglas had said and worse -- the elves of this place had known of what would happen... had conspired against them.

"Laiglas too knows more than he says, but unlike Lindir, he does not ignore his past. " Eönwë said. "Indeed, Olorin tells me that if anything, Laiglas dwells too much on his years in thraldom to the exclusion of many opportunities for joy in his free life."

"Have you been asked to invite Laiglas and Linden to assist in the trial? Or to force them like you did Lindir?"

"I have not. And I have not forced Lindir's decision. He knows that he may still refuse, though as he will learn, there will be penalties that he will have to shoulder before he may return to his free life. He already knew in his heart that he could not flee from his past forever -- indeed, he may have wished for us to force him. But his desire to remain with Glorfindel, to live the life of one who does not know fear… who does not know what he has endured... and to bestow that innocence to his children has pushed him towards hoping also that we might not know of his situation. And if we did, that we might ignore him."

"What I would like to know is the nature of this so-called 'situation'." Ingwë said. "You ask for my participation in your crimes and then tell me naught of why. And… and how can you laugh? That was a heinous act!"

Eönwë's laughter, clear and ringing, was pearling through the humid air. "A heinous act? Is that so, Little Vanya? Only one such as you, who does not know first-hand the cruelty of this world but who basks daily in the embrace of the Valar could say that what I did was a crime... and your participation in the War of Wrath does not count. To a thrall, especially to one such as Lindir, that is little compared to what he remembers -- to what he keeps hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind. What he has done... what he has done to others. Indeed, he probably wishes that he had not suffered more pain when I, in echo of Sauron, gave him that creature."

There was a long silence. Then Ingwë said, quietly, "You have not convinced me and your humour pains me. But regardless, I do not wish to become buried in such a conversation and I am short on time. Tell me, do you intend to take charge of Lindir and remove him from my halls? And depending on your answer, how am I to deal with Glorfindel and their children?"

"I will remove him for a few days to a hidden place, at least until I know Lindir's answer. And if you wish, tell them nothing save that he is being questioned by us. There is no need to tell them that his condition has been restored yet -- it will cause unnecessary strife. "

"That is a drastic understatement."

"Indeed, Your Highness. Good day."

There was the sound of footsteps walking away and the door closing and then, after a pause, Lindir heard footsteps approaching the door to the outermost room in which he lay. He watched Eönwë walk into the room and over to him, keeping his eyes cautiously aware from looking the Maia in the face. The tall Maia was clad in another of the soft bathrobes, his long silver hair lying trapped beneath the collar. When he knelt down beside him, Lindir raised his head and met his gaze. Eönwë reached out to cup his forehead.

"Your temperature is still quite high," Eönwë observed. "It will cause you some pain, but I must move you." As he withdrew his hand, Lindir saw that there were teeth marks in the side of it, some of them leaking blood. He stared at them, already recognising the imprint.

"Your... hand."

Eönwë followed his gaze . "This? Ah, I was afraid that you might have bitten your tongue -- this was more satisfactory."

"I am sorry."

Lindir blinked when Eönwë stiffened and the Maia shot him an odd, sharp look. But the look quickly passed. "No problem. And I hope you paid attention to my conversation out there?"

"Er... aye."

"Good. Now..."

"Er... may I..." Lindir broke off uncertainly, realising that he had interrupted the Maia, but when he saw that Eönwë was looking at him in expectation that he ask his question, he continued, "May I ask why it does not hurt?" And when Eönwë did not respond, but continued to gaze at him attentively, he swallowed and said, "Only... it does not hurt as much as I had expected." He raised his left hand and rested it indicatively on the flat plain of his stomach, glanced down at it. Suddenly, when he felt the creature move again and another thought struck him, his eyes widened and he looked back quickly at Eönwë, feeling his hair spilling over his shoulders in the violence of his motion. "Who... who made this one?"

Eönwë met his gaze and his eyes narrowed slightly, the coldness returning. And Lindir hurriedly lowered his eyes.

"Come," the Maia said, reaching down to slide his arms beneath him and raise him. His limbs were warm... his chest surprisingly, believably elvish to Lindir's senses and he closed his eyes, breathing deep of the damp air, so drenched with the sweet scent of linden blossoms. "The carrier has arrived." And then scent of linden overwhelmed him and he slipped back into the embrace of the blackness.

~*~

When Glorfindel awoke, he found himself lying on the covers of his bed in a bathrobe. On sitting up, he saw a servant of the house who had been sitting beside his bed suddenly rise and smile at him, his face glowing in the orange light of sunset that streamed through the windows. "How do you feel, Your Lordship?"

"Tired," Glorfindel said truthfully, raising his hand to brush hair out of his face. He looked around his room, at the windows, blinking dazedly. He felt as though he had forgotten something and thought back, his brow creasing when he recalled sitting in the bath and watching Lindir sitting there beside him, scanning the elf's long eye lashes against pale cheeks. And then after that... nothing... He passed the hand over his eyes, rubbing the index and thumb into his temples as he tried to think, but when he truly remembered nothing, he dropped the hand back to his lap and looked back at the servant. "Did I faint in the bath?"

"Indeed," the servant replied, turning and going over to the wardrobe to take out a long white robe trimmed with green and gold, which he brought over to the bed and laid out for him, smoothing the faint wrinkles that appeared in the front of the material. "We brought you here to rest. And you have awoken at an auspicious time for it is almost suppertime. Tonight, supper will be held in the third courtyard as it is expected to be a small private family gathering and the Queen's favourite shrub variety of the linden blossoms are at their peak in that..."

"And Lindir?" Glorfindel interrupted, discomforted by the mention of a gathering of his relatives and not at all interested in listening to the reasons for choosing the location for that night's dining. He would have expected Lindir to have been waiting with him and he glanced at the empty and made side of the bed beside him. Then again, he thought, Lindir has probably returned to his rooms to properly attire himself for the occasion. If he has been listening to this servant's sort of banter, he would be even more nervous about meeting Ingwë and even more determined to make a positive impression on him. He wondered if he should have mentioned Ingwë's words to him about Sauron's trial before they had gone to the bath after all.

"Lindir?" the servant echoed. "Ah, Lindir stayed in the baths," the servant said as he returned to the wardrobes to take out a golden belt and various white undergarments. "I am unaware if he is still there." He returned and laid these items out alongside the robe.

"He was not left unattended, I hope?" Glorfindel asked, thinking of Lindir's tiredness. He was only slightly appeased by the servant's smile, for it did not reach the elf's eyes.

"Of course not, Your Lordship." the servant responded. "We do not leave bathers alone if they are unsupervised. Now come. Should I help you to dress?" He looked pointedly at the clothes.

"Please do." Glorfindel replied, sliding from the bed and shrugging off his robe. And he spared Lindir no more thought while he prepared himself for supper. In hindsight, he supposed that the servant, whether aware or unaware of what had been transpiring in the house, had successfully helped Eönwë's actions for he managed to distract him from all thoughts about his beloved. The elf skillfully drew him from subject to subject, each one as easily forgettable as the next and yet still extremely pleasant to discuss all the same. But whatever the servant's underlying intentions, his tactic worked and by the time Glorfindel left his rooms after sundown and followed the servant to the appointed feasting place, Lindir's whereabouts were far from his mind and he was talking jovially with the skilled entertainer.

He was a little early, but it seemed that some of the household had already arrived at the porch of the courtyard. Neither Laiglas nor Linden were present, but Glingal was there, standing near a carven porch column and already talking politely with some golden haired elf-maidens that Glorfindel did not recognise in face, but whose names he did when they were introduced, for they turned out to be his cousins and children of his cousins. Glingal seemed to be getting on very well with them, his quiet, courteous, and lightly humorous manner entirely understated in a manner that seemed to be drawing the ladies to him like flies, even though they showed obvious initial hesitation about approaching one not favoured by the heads of the family. When Glorfindel saw Glingal bow slightly to one of Glorfindel's aunts when she came up to introduce herself to him, he smiled, greatly reminded of Elrond.

"Which explains why he is so popular," Glorfindel thought. And speaking of attracting ladies, I wonder how they will react to Laiglas. He turned and looked around for Laiglas, hoping to see him also in the courtyard and undoubtedly surrounded by ladies. Glorfindel knew from past experience that though Laiglas was popular with the fairer sex for his physical beauty, as soon as he turned his cold, disdainful eyes onto them, their attempts to win his smiles and affection would dry up and thereafter, they would stay a radius of at least a few feet around him and never cross that self-set barrier unless social courtesy forced their feet. But their gaze would always return to him. Glorfindel always found this intensely amusing. Less amusing, however, was Laiglas's reaction when Glorfindel had attempted to question him as to why he glared at these maidens and sometimes even blatantly ignored them. He thought back to when he had, a long time ago in Imladris, brought up the subject with Laiglas when he had found himself standing beside his adopted son on the edge of the greensward on which a dance was in full sway, his own inhibitions around Laiglas lessened slightly by the few goblets of wine that he had recently imbibed at the pre-dance feast.

"Why do you show the maidens so much contempt?" he had asked him, wondering as he had done already on a few occasions if Laiglas were perhaps inclined towards his own sex. "I almost think that were Elrond's own daughter to invite you to dance, you would show her the same discourtesy that you showed that last maiden and turn your back on her."

His adopted son had turned his head and looked at him, his black eyes opaque and cold... and slightly suspicious. And Glorfindel had thought then that handsome as Laiglas was, much as Laiglas's skin was as white and soft as a female's and the silky black tresses that fluttered in the cool night air allured him, with such loveless eyes, his adopted son would surely walk the path of his life alone and always alone. It had sobered him and he had turned his eyes silently back to the dancers. And beside him, in the corner of his eye, he observed Laiglas turn expressionlessly to watch with him.

Now, looking around Ingwë's third courtyard, Glorfindel observed that Laiglas was no where to be seen... and neither was Linden. Or Lindir. Or Elrond. He pursed his lips, took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant, and turned to wander down the garden path that ran through the middle of the courtyard, its white surface and the green grass all about strewn with stray yellow petals, shivering in the warm breeze. A few maidens who were coming in the opposite direction nodded politely at him and spoke words of welcome, but like the rest of his relatives, did not stay to engage him in a conversation or to learn more about him than his name. When he reached the opposite porch, he glanced again at the archways leading out of the courtyard in hope of seeing one of them, but when his hopes again failed, he sighed and sat down on a seat near the entrance to the path, absently admiring the way the light from the lamps inset in the tall columns played on the angles of the crystal goblet. The wine was light and sweet. When a breeze suddenly took up again, a few of the petals floated down to land in his drink... balancing there precariously for a few moments like little sailing boats before capsizing and sinking to the golden depths.

"Ah, Your Highnesses, Your Ladyships, right this way, please."

"Thank you." A cool laughing female voice and the sound of it sent a shiver down Glorfindel's spine. He looked around, eyes widening, breath catching in his throat when he saw two ladies, both tall as Ingwë was short and surrounded by six maidens of high birth, walking into the courtyard from beneath an arch on his side of the porch. One had long golden hair, the other long and dark, showing her Noldo blood. Both were clad in white and gold, but were adorned with gems at the neck and waist. He stood up quickly, swallowing nervously, his hand tightening on his glass. At the movement, the golden haired one glanced at him, and then, without expression -- no sign that she recognised or acknowledged him, looked back at the servant who was guiding her towards the path. As they passed, however, Glorfindel, in spite of his own misgivings, stepped out hurrriedly to halt their path.

"Grandmother," he greeted with a low bow and a brilliant smile. "Mother." He straightened, gazing intently at their faces, at the expressionless one of his grandmother and the frozen smile on his mother's face. "I am glad to see you both looking so well." Then he waited for their own greetings...

But they did not come. Instead, after a few moments of coolly regarding him, his grandmother snorted and turned to walk around him to the path across the garden, and the maidens and his mother hurried to do the same. Stunned, Glorfindel moved to halt them again, but halted dead when his grandmother suddenly spoke, her once laughing voice now cold and quiet.

"Do not come near us... you filthy thing."

It froze the very air in his lungs. Eyes wide, he numbly watched them slowly cross the garden and be laughingly greeted by the rest of the relatives that were present -- kisses and embraces exchanged as if the two ladies had been on a long journey away from the realm...

The glass suddenly felt cold and hard and cumbersome in his hand. He sipped again and the liquid tasted sickly in his mouth. And as he watched the ladies retreat from Glingal, he inhaled deeply, hearing his throat rasping on the shaky breath, and turned away to walk further into the shadow of the porch, out of the lamp lights.

"Do you wish you had not come?"

On hearing the soft voice, Glorfindel looked around, back to the archway through which his mother and grandmother had appeared. Only now it was a smaller female who stood there with a garland of lindens and her hair was silver and her smile was not frozen, but soft and kind and well intentioned to him. He nodded, unable to quite bring himself to smile. "Linden. Where is Lindir and Laiglas?"

She came over to him, her hands laced together behind her back. "Lindir, I do not know -- I was about to ask you the same question. And Laiglas is on his way, though he is taking his time -- I think he will be happy he did if the rest of your relatives turn out like those ladies."

Glorfindel chuckled wanly, in spite of the fact that he was somewhat irked by the fact that Linden was referring to his mother in such a tone.

"But then again," Linden said, tilting her head, "knowing his own personality, he might fit in quite well with them." And she laughed and waved at Glingal, who was standing alone on the other side of the courtyard and looking around -- when he spied them, he smiled broadly and hurried over to join them.

"Hail! You both look very well," he said as he stepped up onto the porch.

"Have you seen Lindir?" Linden asked him after he had kissed her cheek in greeting. "Neither of us have seen him."

Glingal's brow knitted and he turned to look at Glorfindel, propping a hand on his hip. "I thought he was with you," he said. "His guest rooms are near to mine and I went to collect him when I came here, but he was absent. A servant told me that he had gone with you."

"That he did, but we separated at the baths," Glorfindel said. "I fainted and was taken back to my rooms. I was told that he had stayed there, though under supervision."

"You fainted? Are you feeling unwell?" Linden asked. Glorfindel shook his head.

"Could he still be there?" Glingal said. He and Glorfindel blinked and turned to look at Linden when she suddenly waved at someone across the porch. On following her gaze, they saw Laiglas striding over, his movements unusually agitated, his face tight. When he arrived on the porch and halted before them, he turned his head from side to side -- looking up and down their side of the porch, which was deserted -- then back at them. "I could not find Lindir."

"We think he may still be in the baths," Linden said. "Did you check there?"

He nodded tersely and swallowed, absently rubbing his long white hands. "I have looked in every place that I can think to find him, even if he were lured there. I had six servants with me by the time that I finally gave up and turned here in the hope that you might know more than I, though whether they were trying to hinder me with idle talk or actually help me I am unsure." He looked at Glorfindel, his black eyes glittering with anxious intensity. "I left him in your care. What happened to you? When did you part ways?"

"I fainted around mid-afternoon and was taken to my rooms." Glorfindel frowned when Laiglas nodded, not looking at all surprised. "Have... I missed something?"

"I fainted about then in a garden near to Lindir's rooms," he said. "And Linden told me that she went to sleep around then." He looked at Glingal, who was staring at them both in confusion. "And you?"

"I was sleeping as well," he said. "I woke up in the late afternoon, which is when I went to fetch Lindir. So... are you saying that this is no coincidence, Laiglas? Why do you think someone would wish to incapacitate us at that time?"

"The air was unsettled here; ill intentioned towards us," Laiglas said distractedly, turning to shoot the people gathered on the other side of the porch a piercing look, so sharp that Glorfindel actually saw some of the more introverted of his relatives stiffen and turn their heads to look at them. Beside him, Glingal quickly reached out and grabbed his brother's elbow, yanking him around to look back at them.

"Laiglas!" he hissed, when Laiglas looked at him.

"What?" Laiglas tugged his elbow loose and nodded back at the other porch. "This household is responsible -- those people across there assuredly know something about Lindir's disappearance. And I am sure that they know to where Lindir has been taken."

"Taken? Do you have any justification for that accusation?" Glorfindel asked. "To me, it seems all like a strange coincidence and even if we were incapacitated for a period in time, how do you know that it was only us? How do you know that Lindir was not also put to sleep or caused to swoon? Perhaps he is still asleep... or perhaps he hurt himself when he fainted and is in the healing wing."

"I have checked the healing wing," Laiglas said shortly. He suddenly frowned and looked at him, his eyes widening in realisation. "Did Lindir not tell you about what happened earlier?"

"Earlier?"

"Why after his arrival when Linden distracted the servants so that I could..." Laiglas stopped, on seeing Glorfindel and Glingal's confused faces and looked sharply at Linden who, with face very pale, shot him a stricken look. And at that look, Laiglas's face seemed to drain of what little colour was in it -- he turned quite grey. "Why... he did not tell you that Eönwë approached him with servants of Irmo? Before I dropped him off with you? Did you not notice his terror? The paleness of his face and his shaking hands?"

Glorfindel thought back to Lindir's pale face when Laiglas had dropped him off with him. "He told me nothing, though I did ask him why he was so pale." He turned his head and looked across to the other porch -- to where Ingwë was gesturing to a servant that it was time for the start of supper. Ingwë... Ingwë had been talking to him when his grandfather had known what had been happening to Lindir as soon as Lindir had arrived in his halls. Had probably planned it all out.

"We will talk more on this later," Glorfindel said.

"Undoubtedly," Ingwë said, a sour tone in his voice.

Glingal's voice stirred him from his thoughts. "I am confused," he said. "And I feel as if I have failed to pay attention to my loved ones. Why would Eönwë and Lord Irmo wish to speak with Lindir?"

"That is what I intend to find out," Laiglas said. He looked again over the porch and at the same moment, a bell sounded from near the supper table that had been set out on the grass, thankfully distracting the elves across the way from noticing his accusing glare a second time. It was Glorfindel this time who reached out and took his arm.

"Laiglas. Glingal, Linden," he said quietly. "I think I know the reason, though to where they have taken him, I have no idea." Behind Laiglas, he observed a servant approaching them over the grass, come to summon them to the table. Beyond the servant, Glorfindel saw his grandmother and his mother being led to the table.

"Do not come near us... you filthy thing."

He swallowed and looked back at Laiglas, Linden, and Glingal. "It is like this..."

Chapter 04

The slumber that Eönwë had cast on him were void of dreams or even the faintest awareness of his whereabouts. And so, when Lindir finally awoke from the spell that had trapped his consciousness, disorientated and slightly nauseous from a strange sensation in his abdomen that he could not immediately identify, and found himself lying in a luxurious bed in a room constructed of ancient timbers and cast in the golden light of noon, he half thought that he was in Elrond's house in Imladris. Certainly, the open windows that breathed of the scent of rich flowers -- though he did not recognise the scents or the view -- and the cool white sheets and deep pillow... these all seemed to assure his hazy senses that this was the case. And the most definite proof was, of course, the fact that a warm body was lying close behind his naked body, the other person's warmth seeping through their night shirt in a familiar, comforting way.

And then he suddenly frowned. For at the window he could see the heads of red poppies... and the smell of their crushed seeds seemed to be imbued into the pillow, a scent that lulled him, sung his senses back towards the embrace of Eönwë's spell. But the spell's attempts to woo him seemed feeble... its effectiveness nullified, though whether by time or by the Maia's own wish he did not know...

Eönwë! The spell! Suddenly he recalled the events of the previous... day? How much time had passed since Eönwë had cast that one on him? Since the Maia had said that he was to be taken to a secret place? Was this place it? And had Glorfindel accompanied him here? Eyes wide, he rolled over to look at the one lying behind him clad in cypress green, inhaling sharply when he saw that it was not Glorfindel at all... and he doubted that it was even an elf in spite of the other's appearance. If he were an elf, he would be not quite an adult and no elfling would have such depth to his eyes, not even one reborn.

The elfling gazed back at him, the brow creased as if he were startled by Lindir's sudden movement. And then the dark brown eyes stirred with mirth and full lips, so red that Lindir half thought they might be painted with the blood of poppies twisted into a wide smile. As the face crinkled with joy, the elfling pushed himself up to look closely at him, his hair dark as the cypress wood tumbling long and wavy over his shoulders and between them.

"Hail, Lindir," he said and his voice, soft and shy yet playful reminded Lindir of the laughter of children and the embarrassment of first love. "You slept long -- I trust your body has adjusted to its condition?" And he stretched out a slim hand, gentle and curious as a precocious child of royal bearing, and felt Lindir's brow, his eyes softening as he evidently found the temperature pleasing to him.

"Who are you and what is the time?" Lindir glanced around the wide bedrooms, strewn about with many soft cushions, instruments, and furs, and then returned his eyes to the beautiful elfling's face.

The other withdrew his hand and started to push his own tresses back behind his shoulders. "A member of Lord Irmo's house and an assistant to him. You may have heard of me, though I do not tend to associate myself with elves." The Maia flashed him another charming smile and Lindir felt heat rise in his cheeks. "My name is Silmo. And one night has passed since you left Ingwë's halls."

Silmo? As a minstrel and, more importantly, Glorfindel's lover, Lindir was aware of the lore and songs concerning the Age of the Two Trees... and he had heard of the Maia. He nodded. "You are the one who was appointed as the waterer of the tree that was known as Telperion, which cast the silver light. And I believe you also wished to become the guide of the moon, though your request was declined, much to your disappointment."

The other laughed, looking greatly amused. "Ah, even one such as you who did not live during those times remembers my history better than I." And he leaned forward and kissed Lindir's cheek, before laughing again and flopping back onto the bed. "Now I see why elves such as you, with their longer and truer memories, would be superior witnesses at courts than ones who dwell in the forests of Irmo." Although his voice was still laughing while he spoke and the atmosphere remained relaxed, at his words Lindir felt himself tense. He stared down at the Maia lying below him, still smiling playfully with limbs relaxed -- resembling nothing more threatening than an inexperience and gullible puppy at play.

Lindir knew that the Maia was likely very much aware of the fact that he, Lindir, was aware that appearances were deceiving... so he doubted that Silmo was purposely trying to get his guard down. But the thought that Silmo was naturally this playful was also... somewhat disarming. He looked away and at the windows through which he could see the distant mountains of Pelori. They seemed to be very far up from where he was currently positioned... perhaps they were in a house on the side of Mount Taniquetil?

"What do you want from me?" he asked. "And..." He reached for his abdomen and sent his thoughts inward to the creature that lay within him, which had knitted his flesh into new shapes within him in such a short and relatively painless time. In a few moments, the creature had completely undone the work of Elrond. Lindir had endured many operations beneath the half-elf's hands to cut off and remove the taint of the first creature that had been planted within him. He winced at the reminder of the first creature, his mind unwilling to think back to that time. "And why did your people put this... thing in me?" He watched the breeze play over the poppy heads at the window, watched the flowers bow submissively to the caress.

There was a silence. And then Silmo's voice spoke and it was no longer laughing, but soft and cautious. "Eönwë has, I hope, told you that we wish for you to go before the court of Taniquetil as a key witness in the trial of Lord Sauron."

'Lord' Sauron? "Aye, but why force my decision? And in such a way?" Lindir glanced back at him, realised that he did not wish to look into Silmo's piercing eyes, and looked back at the windows. "Why am I so important to this trial? Surely there are others, more willing than I, who can attest as to Sauron's cruel deeds?" I know there are other elves on whom they can call... elves who surely would be much more willing to participate in the trial than I. And if the Valar are involved, surely they can enlist the assistance of those thralls who died in his care -- Houseless spirits who dwell in the House of Waiting? "Cannot you call on them?"

Silmo chuckled and Lindir heard the sheets shift as the Maia sat up, shivered when he felt cool fingers brush over the skin of his abdomen. "Of course there are others who are more willing than you," Silmo said, his hand dropping to push aside the sheets that covered Lindir's thighs. "And we intend to enlist their assistance also if they are willing to do so... but you are... apparently... a different sort of thrall." When Lindir felt his hand drop to run over the half-aroused flesh between his thighs, he looked quickly back at the Maia, frowning when Silmo took him in his palm and started to rub the flesh.

"Apparently? What do you mean?" Lindir winced when he felt the creature within him react to the embrace, repaired organs flexing, new and unstretched to the task. It was uncomfortable, but mingled in with the familiar, traditional, more normal pleasure was also that twinge of... that unnatural, but not unfamiliar sensation that this was necessary and something to be endured.

"Lie down," Silmo said. It was not an order, but Lindir doubted that it would be wise in terms of his own health for him to entertain refusal. He lay down and covered his face with his folded arms, tried to relax, felt the pleasure course through him, felt the wetness seeping down his arousal, slickening Silmo's grasp and dripping further... the liquid thin, copious, hateful... life-bringing... As he came, he heard Elrond's words echoing in his ears... that day when he asked if Elrond could ever cure him.

"If you are referring to whether I can cure you and turn you back from... what you are... and return to what you were, that is impossible. I do not have the skill of the one who transformed you, far from it, and unless the Ainur or some higher power intervene, you will never be a male, at least biologically." Elrond had said this with an obvious attempt at candid kindness and Lindir had accepted it without complaint -- he had always doubted that Elrond, renown as the half-elf was as a healer, could possibly compete with the skills and knowledge of a Maia. Especially a Maia who had helped to fashion the fathers of the Dwarves long ago in the halls of the Valar... and later, worked on the foul creatures that had become the bitterest foe of the elves -- the orcs. No, Elrond was no match for the brilliance of Sauron in this matter.

He stirred from his thoughts when he felt Silmo remove his hand from him and the Maia suddenly remarked, "It tastes sweeter than I had imagined..."

Lindir removed his arms from his face and looked up at the Maia, who sat there over him with a bemused expression on his face, wet fingers at his lips. Flushing, Lindir looked away, folded his arms limply over his stomach. "It is milk, as I expect you already know. Now will you tell me why I am so special to this case?"

There was a pause. Then Silmo pushed back his hair from his face with his wrist. "Your input in the trial was requested by one of the other members involved in this trial," he said. "It was a favour made in such a way that we could not refuse it nor refuse the mode of persuasion in parasitising you. If you agree to do as this member requests and participate in the trial, then we will return your body to its original state before its initial taint."

Confused, Lindir looked back at him, brow knitted. "And who is this member?"

Silmo smiled wanly. " 'Twas Lord Sauron."

~*~

Glorfindel was worried. And when Glorfindel was worried, he was restless and frustrated and unhappy and extremely troublesome to those near to him on whom he bestowed these behaviours. Currently, he was pacing up and down the length of a small room adjoining Ingwë's libraries, a room that was mostly deserted save for a few chairs, a few piles of research parchments -- some familiar to him, and a complacent half-elf who was sitting in one of the chairs and reading a freshly bound book, arms propped on the chair arms.

"We have searched everywhere," Glorfindel said. "We have turned these halls upside down in my search."

"I had noticed," Elrond said, not looking up from his book.

"And we have started to search the city." Glorfindel watched agitatedly when as he turned, the whip of his cloak sent some some individual parchments flying from the top of two of the piles and in the direction of the closed door. "And also the habitable slopes of the mountain. If Lindir is there, we will find him and take him back to Tirion. By the grace of the..." He broke off, evidently unable to have any faith in any Valar at the moment to deem them worthy of the expression. "We should never have come here." He ran a hand through his hair, the back part of which was tied back in a careless and rapidly loosening ponytail.

"Glorfindel." Elrond lowered his book to his lap and frowned at him. "If the Valar want to hide Lindir from you, it is highly likely that you will not find them."

"Yes, but why, Elrond?" Glorfindel halted before him and outspread his hands entreatingly. "Why do they want to use such a method? Why do they need to steal him away and hide him as if they are doing something dishonourable... as if he is a criminal to be restrained... or as if his children and I have no right to contact him."

"You are not wedded under the law of Elvenhome," Elrond reminded, leaning his head on his hand. "Arguably, they do not need to tell you about Lindir's current situation."

"Elrond!" Glorfindel glared at him. "Now is not the time to come up with excuses for them. They know that I consider myself wed to him and that Lindir considers himself wed to me."

"Have you asked Ingwë?"

"Yes! I was thrown out. Seems that he and the matriarch dislike my attitude... or me -- I am dithering between one of the two options." Glorfindel ran his hand through his hair again and turned to stalk over to the window where he halted to stand there looking out at yet another courtyard garden, hands on his hips. "I cannot believe the madness that has taken this household!" He shook his head, the ponytail unravelling even further. "Or taken the Valar! I... I cannot describe how I feel at the moment! And Elrond, you... you would not understand how I feel at the moment." He raised one hand and waved it dismissively as if he had expected Elrond to attempt to speak, though Elrond had not even opened his mouth. Elrond's brow creased slightly.

There was a pause. Then Elrond calmly picked up his book again and resumed reading, slowly turning the pages. Glorfindel glanced at him when he heard the first page rustle as it was turned and with a frustrated sigh, he dragged a spindly-legged chair in front of the window and sat down wrong-way-round on it. He tapped his fingers loudly on the arched back for a bit, staring mulishly out at the sun-swept lawn, his lips drawn into a thin line.

"What should I do?" he asked presently, turning his head to look at Elrond. "What would you do if you were in my position. Say Celebrían had been snatched from beneath your nose against her will?"

"It depends on the circumstances," Elrond said, not looking up from his book. "It is not as if Lindir has been taken by orcs. Perhaps you should be questioning your own faith in the Valar. Do you truly believe that they mean your family harm?"

Glorfindel did not respond so Elrond put down his book and looked at him, meeting his eye gravely. "You know, I mean no offence to your relationship with Lindir, but could it be possible that Lindir voluntarily went with the Valar to participate in the trial?"

"Of course not!"

"Truly?"

Glorfindel scowled. "I know that sometimes there are things that I do not understand about Lindir, especially his ability to be so stupidly selfless and optimistic in the face of those who would obviously do him harm, but I know for certain that he would never agree to let the Valar break the seal over his memories. He has been traumatised enough with what he has had to endure all those millennia captive in Sauron's webs."

"But if there was a possibility?"

"Then he must have been threatened and is not willing at all," Glorfindel said angrily. "And why do you even doubt my logic about Lindir? Is our marital bond somehow less than any other bond, though it may only be recognised in the laws of the heathens?"

"You are overreacting. I was..."

Glorfindel interrupted him, the elf-lord's hands tightening on the arch of the chair back. "I am not! Elrond, hear me out! You never accepted Lindir as a citizen of Imladris in his own right -- he only became a permanent resident after we realised that he was with another child -- my child, Glingal -- and I insisted that he immediately become my dependent. But even so, you never seem to trust him. What do you have against him? Is it his fault that he was befriended and fooled by Sauron in Eregion? I do not recall you ever treating any of the other former residents of Eregion with the same suspicion, though they were all to some degree beguiled by Sauron's spells. And for that matter, I do not recall you treating any of the other former thralls, though none of them were as altered in body as him, with the same distrust."

"Glorfindel..."

Glorfindel plunged on. "Is it his fault that he became a thrall and was so transformed that he was no longer a member of his own sex, indeed has seen more of motherhood than the average female elf, and endured this all alone? Do you not remember the ostracism of his family? How they dared not eat with us? How hard you allowed Lindir to work to win over the council to look on his plea for permanent asylum favourably when you knew what they did not about his condition? Is it his fault that he was in such a situation? And..."

"Glorfindel!" Elrond interrupted sharply, snapping the book shut, his face tight. "Why are you even asking these questions? Do you really think I dismissed his initial applications for asylum out of spite or out of some fearful and baseless notion that all former thralls are in league with Sauron? I did not! I do not believe it is Lindir's fault that he was so transformed. However! However... and hear me out, Glorfindel! I still consider him extremely different from other former thralls of my experience."

"And how is he different?"

"When he was found, by Mithrandir or Olórin as he is now called, neither Lindir, Laiglas, nor Lindo showed signs of abuse beyond the permanent changes made within their bodies. They were not ill fed, not confused as is often the case with those caught in Sauron's spells and, most strangely of all, not crippled with fear. Their ability to reason was remarkable and at the time, Olórin told me that he was certain that Laiglas would have had shrewdness and agility to escape Dol Guldur if he had so wished." Elrond gazed narrowly at Glorfindel's visibly fading anger as the elf-lord considered this information.

"And what was the reason? You never presented this information to the council."

"Of course not." Elrond snorted. "I never mentioned it because I hoped to have Lindir explain the reason to me on his own and not under duress. However, before I could persuade him to answer my questions, a certain distinguished member of the council happened to bluster in on me one morning with a cut face, claiming that an elfling by the name of Laiglas had struck him, cursed him, and had accused him of impregnating his mother." He smiled slightly at Glorfindel's sour look. "And then I decided that I would be benevolent and allow Lindir his asylum in the hope that he would answer my questions afterwards. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he is extremely stubborn, and I am still to learn his reason."

When Glorfindel said nothing for a while, Elrond added, in an unsurprised tone. "So he has not confided his reason in you, then?"

Glorfindel exhaled and stood. "He has not. But I have never asked him about his life in darkness. His mind is sealed... or was sealed when I first met him. And if I recall correctly, he sealed it before he came to Imladris."

"That is correct." Elrond also stood and walked over to the door to stoop and pick up the fallen papers. "And if Olórin spoke truly, Lindir was closing off his memories even when Olórin found him in Dol Guldur." He straightened and looked amusedly at Glorfindel's frowning face. "But I do not believe that Lindir ever had any evil intent in coming to Imladris... or that he has wilfully done evil in his past. And time has proven that he has only meant well for all of us. But..." He tilted his head and looked down at the parchments in his hands, a small rueful smile on his lips. "I suppose there are other reasons why he may feel that he has something to hide from us. And from you. After all, if he were a normal former thrall, surely the Valar would not be so forceful in demanding his contribution to the trial?" He turned and went to the door. "I will leave you with your thoughts. Oh, and by the way, I am sure that I do not need to tell you that Laiglas will not be forthcoming with information if you decide to question him on Lindir's 'reason'." Then he opened the door and left Glorfindel alone.

~*~

Over Silmo's shoulder, Lindir saw the breeze stirring up around the poppies at the window. A few of the petals detached from the blood-red blossom heads and scattered into the room to float to the floor. He exhaled and felt his shoulders drop slightly as the tension fled from them. His lips felt dry.

So. 'Twas Sauron who had wished for him to speak at the trial. That in itself seemed to explain... seemed to so easily almost justify the baffling nature of everything that had happened from the moment of hearing the summons to Ingwë's halls to the implantation of the parasite planted within him. If it was inexplicable, morally confusing, painful, emotional, then what else could be held accountable... responsible save a dark lord? He ran his hands over the sheets around him, lightly clawing at them, feeling the material sliding smoothly out from beneath his fingertips.

How long has it been since I last saw him? Lindir could not remember though he could vaguely pinpoint the years around it. He wondered if other former thralls, ones with a perhaps greater right to call themselves traumatised and victims of Sauron's machinations, could recall their last encounter with Sauron with more accuracy. Was it a sign of his own guilt... or lack of victimisation -- if that is what it could be called -- that he could not recall the date?

"You are calmer than I had expected." Silmo's gentle voice disturbed his thoughts and Lindir looked back at him, met the Maia's inquiring, anxious expression. He sensed that Silmo's eyes were searching for a smile from him and so he offered a small one, and was amused and comforted when Silmo's beautiful face broke into an answering smile of relief and hope.

"I am surprised myself," Lindir said, feeling his quickly conjured up smile fade. He looked down and placed a hand on his abdomen, his brow knitting. "But I now think I knew, on some level, that his hands were the ones that fashioned this creature... that he was somehow a part of this mystery. Ai, but it troubles me in the same way as the first one." He shook his head slightly, rubbing his hand in loose circles.

"So what is your answer? Will you allow us to read your memories, then?"

Lindir looked back at him. "Firstly tell me where this reading will take place. Who will be privy to this information?"

"It depends on your own wishes," Silmo said, his smile fading. "You may be examined privately, by me I expect, and then through me your memories will be cast up onto the walls of the court halls when they are so desired. Alternatively, you may appear before the court in person and recall events at the request of the questioners. As to the second question, only those invited to the court and their guests are permitted to appear in the audience. But there is no guarantee that what is heard within those walls will not pass beyond them and become public knowledge."

Lindir considered this in silence for a few moments. Before he could respond, Silmo suddenly spoke again. "Concerning the two possible methods of presenting your memories, I do not recommend that you appear before the court in person, for the process of exposing one's memories to strangers is usually distressing enough without the added drain of being questioned over them. Also, since the opening of the trial and the questioning of witnesses of the First Age, the defence has developed a reputation of unsettling the witnesses enough to force them to leave the courtroom. It has not affected the case against Sauron significantly so far, but it is something that I would like you to keep in mind for your own well-being."

"Defence?" Lindir frowned. "But I thought you said that Sauron was the one who requested me as his witness."

"Ah, yes." Silmo nodded, looking confused himself as he leaned back, clasping his hands together on the sheets before him. "But you see, 'tis Lord Sauron's wish that you turn up as a witness against him."

This makes no sense at all! Surely my evidence would be among the least damning of him? What is he plotting? Lindir stared at Silmo for a few moments and then smiled bewilderedly and shook his head again. "I do not understand."

"Neither do I, but he refuses to tell me his reasons." Silmo blinked when Lindir, on hearing this frank admittance of shared ignorance, suddenly laughed quietly. "Lindir?"

Lindir looked at him, still chuckling, his eyes full of genuine mirth. "I apologise," he said amusedly, "I have a favour to ask of you, Your Lordship."

"Please call me Silmo. And what is this favour?"

Still smiling, Lindir said, "May I speak with Sauron?"

Chapter 05

"I admit that I did not expect that request," Silmo said as they ascended the narrow cliff-side mountain path outside his room. After Lindir had ventured his favour of Silmo and the Maia had dressed them both in white robes, they had exited the room by way of a curtained door and passageway that led straight onto the path on which they now walked side by side.

Silmo continued speaking. "When we saw you earlier, you gave Eönwë and I the impression that you were one of those who had learned to live in fear of Sauron, and it was your terror of those times that had, as with many other thralls, caused you to forget those times and be able to live now in peace and happiness. So that you would wish to see him... is indeed strange to me. Or is this perhaps some strange way of elves to address their fears?"

Lindir snorted softly, his eyes fixed on the rocky trail before his feet. "I am not one who lives in fear of him," he said. "What happened earlier... earli..." He trailed off as he registered Silmo's words and he looked sidelong at Silmo, a frown on his face. "You saw me earlier?"

"You do not need disciples of the Vala Irmo, Master of Dreams to merely speak to him."

"Were you one of those... servants who guided us to our rooms?"

"Ah, yes." Silmo smiled. "I was one of them."

Lindir nodded and found himself looking upwards, half-expecting to see a few birds circling above him in the high blue sky or peering over the edge of the path some few hundred feet above them and which led in the opposite direction. He wondered when they would reach that one... and whether that was indeed their path or whether they would take another one.

He thought back to Silmo's words. "When I made that request," he said quietly. "I half expected you to refuse... or to make preparations to have me condemned by my own people."

"Is that what you fear?"

Lindir halted and turned to look back down the path towards where he could descry, in the far distance, the fields south of Taniquetil and even further, past a few smaller towns, the towers of Tirion rising up, sparkling, glittering gold under the sunlight. And beyond that, to the forests. He exhaled and wondered where his sons, Gloredhel and Lindo, were now in their travels... and whether they were gazing at Taniquetil just as he was gazing down at them.

"I would not have been able to re-enter elven society without Glorfindel's faith," he said. "And I would not have been able to gain Glorfindel's faith if he knew then what I will have to admit to the court." He scanned the gleaming spires of the distant buildings, then looked eastwards to the harbour city of Alqualondë, which stared over the Gulf -- the path back to Middle-Earth. Then he turned and looked at Silmo, a tight smile on his face. "I wonder if I will be able to return to Tirion after this... and if so, whether I will be able to return at the side of Glorfindel and my children."

Silmo held his gaze for a few moments, no expression on his face. Then he silently turned and continued walking up the slope, his dark tresses and robes fluttering in the slight breeze. His voice floated back to him. "It is not much further."

~*~

Glorfindel had decided, for the moment, to put Elrond's words to the back of his mind. If there was something that Lindir was purposely hiding from Elrond and from him, he trusted that Lindir had good reason for deciding to do so. His partner was intelligent, logical, and although occasionally flighty and stubborn, was well-intentioned and would do everything in his power to avoid hurting those dear to him.

As he left the room and re-entered the library halls on his way out to learn of what Laiglas had learnt in the elf's search of the city, he slowed as he noticed that some new elves had entered the vast rooms since he had first passed through them. Elves who had been acquaintances of his during the First Age of the Sun in Beleriand... and some known to him since he had been a child on these lands before the birth of the sun. He considered going over to speak with them, but on seeing that they were absorbed in talking with some of the librarians and guessing that they were in some way associated with the mysterious trial that was taking place on Taniquetil, he decided against it and turned away.

Apparently, however, his passage had not gone unnoticed by at least one of these elves. In the passageway outside the library, he suddenly heard someone call to him and he turned to look at the elf hurrying towards him from the doors. He frowned when he saw that it was none other than his friend, Ecthelion.

"Ecthelion, what are you doing here? You are not a former thrall, surely?"

"Eh? You are here about that too?" Ecthelion chuckled as he drew to a halt before him. "No, I am no thrall. And you? Or have you done something dreadful to that house I lent you and fled here to avoid my wrath? You would know my terrible wrath after all, what with having a bit of it in yourself, my fellow balrog-slayer."

Glorfindel snorted. "Ai, your house was in a perfect condition when last I saw it. Now tell me why you are in this place."

"Ah, I am here with my older brother," Ecthelion said, his face sobering. "As you know, he was a resident of Tol Sirion and was taken captive when it was invaded by Sauron's forces. He was summoned here to show his memories to the court."

Glorfindel frowned. He knew little of Ecthelion's older brother. "Are all of the witnesses to Sauron's deeds gathering in Ingwë's halls, then?" Although the libraries had seemed unusually populated and messy to him, he had not noticed a large number of guests in the halls. "And is every possible witness being summoned?"

"No, it is mostly key witnesses," Ecthelion said. "And only a very few are guests in these halls. Indeed, most of the guests here are actually relatives of witnesses. Most of the real witnesses are being housed either in the city or in secret houses on the slopes of Taniquetil -- out of reach." There was a trace of resignation in his voice and this was explained when he added, quietly, "My brother is one of these ones."

There was an awkward silence. Glorfindel did not feel it was prudent to inquire after Ecthelion's brother's involvement with or treatment under the hands of Sauron. A few elves passed by them in the passageway and they both moved to stand beside the windows.

Presently, Ecthelion broke the quiet and asked, "And you? Why are you here, then? Is it something to do with Lindir?"

Glorfindel had never really discussed Lindir's history with Ecthelion before, but considering the visibly unusual nature of his family, he had long ago come to recognise that he should expect people to know about it. And indeed in many senses, he was thankful for the curiosity and talk behind his back -- it generally made for more informed... or at least more amusing direct questions and it certainly saved time on rattling off the complicated explanation.

"Yes," he said shortly, making it clear that he did not particularly wish to discuss the matter. "He has been invited to help the trial as a witness, though I am unsure as to whether he will agree to do so."

"What? You came all this way without...? Oh, but I suppose that you wanted to visit relatives so he intends to make up his mind while he is here?" Ecthelion said, nodding his head. Glorfindel did not try to complicate the conversation by correcting him. "By the way, I saw your son Glingal in the city? Is the rest of your family here, then?"

"Only Laiglas and Linden besides Glingal," Glorfindel said. "What of your family?"

"Ah, no. This is supposed to be a rather secretive trial, after all, and it not exactly a holiday destination at the moment, is it? Unless you have relatives here, of course," Ecthelion added, "though considering the length of Sauron's hand when he was in Beleriand and Middle-earth... and perhaps even before he left Valinor, I doubt that this trial will be unheard of to most of the residents of Elvenhome. I really think it is more a show of respect to the elves who have never left Elvenhome and who do not wish to concern themselves with the sorrows of Arda and those who refused the summons. Those elves wish to ignore and/or forget these sorrows. Maybe it is also to suppress any peer-inspired attempts to seek revenge on Sauron also, considering how he is now effectively a prisoner in these lands."

Glorfindel nodded, his thoughts turning to Lindir. He wondered if Lindir had been hidden away in one of these so-called secret witness houses on the slopes. Hopefully, he would hear word from him soon. He looked out of the window at the courtyard, bright with blossoms of many colours. There was a fountain to one end, the water arching high and tall from the centre of it, sparkling beneath the sunlight. He wondered if the water came from the snowy peaks of Taniquetil -- presumed it did and then wondered if Lindir were in sight of one of the many tributary streams and underground waterways that wove over and through the heart of the mountain.

In the distance, he heard the library doors opening and closing. Ecthelion suddenly stirred beside him. "I must go," he said. "You are welcome to join us, if you wish."

Glorfindel looked back, back to see him half-turned towards some of the elves that he had seen earlier in the library, but none of those that he had recognised. They were walking towards them, smiling at Ecthelion. Glorfindel shook his head and smiled. He was tarrying and even if he knew that Elrond was right in saying that he would probably not find Lindir if that were the wish of the Valar, he still did not wish to give up hope.

"I am sorry. I have to be elsewhere," he said, and after bowing politely to both Ecthelion and the crowd, he turned and left the halls.

~*~

"This way." Ahead of him, Silmo had halted at the entrance of a cave and stood back, stretching out his hand towards the entrance, gesturing that Lindir was to walk before him.

Lindir peered into the entrance. Beyond it lay a narrow passageway with a smooth rocky floor, well lit by silver lamps whose flames were flickering slightly in the breeze. It looked inviting and pleasant and not at all like a prison. He looked back at Silmo, wondering if there was a reason why Silmo wished him to walk before him.

Silmo smiled, tilting his head amiably. "I assumed that, as you said that you do not fear him, you wish to lead your meeting with him," he said, apparently having read his thoughts. "Was I mistaken?"

"Ah... nay, you were correct -- that arrangement pleases me." Lindir said slowly, slightly surprised that he would be allowed to conduct the meeting... and also somewhat daunted at the thought that he might soon actually be in charge of Sauron, at least temporarily. Such a concept was new and strange to him. "But what will you do?"

"I intend to remain behind you and monitor the situation without interfering unless I see fit to do so or you request my assistance." Silmo gestured again at the door. "You have as long as you wish. There is only one set of doors beyond this passageway and that is the entrance to his quarters."

Lindir nodded, cast a last look back at the view of the lands beyond the sheer drop on the other side of the path -- he anticipated spending the next few hours or so away from the light and open air -- then turned and walked into the passageway. Behind him, he heard Silmo follow after him, the Maia's feet light on the floor.

The passageway seemed to extend for some few hundred feet, but rather than leading to its heart, it curved and swayed and at a few sections, the flat floor was replaced with steps, carven out of the living rock. In other sections, water seemed to flow from small fissures in the wall and ceiling, seeping onto the path in sheens and creating puddles that drained into other fissures. These did not impede their passage, but as they passed these puddles, Lindir learnt to step over them, for the water was icy and though he was an elf, it still hurt his feet.

"This water comes from the snows around the halls of the Lord Manwë and the Lady Varda at the peak of the mountain," Silmo said when Lindir stepped around another puddle. Lindir stopped and looked back at him. "It moves through the rock, running in rivers and seeping through cracks, and eventually floods out into the waterways on its lower slopes. Have you seen the summit, at least in the paintings of your people?"

"Ah, aye, I have seen it in the murals," Lindir said, smiling slightly, watching Silmo draw alongside him and noticing that the Maia did not seem to notice that he was standing in the freezing water, which cradled obligingly around his feet.

"I see. Well, should you agree to participate in the trials -- as is probable -- you will be required to venture to the summit to submit your evidence, whether before the court there or before a medium. And if you disagree, you may ask King Ingwë for permission to attend as a member of the audience and through that means, visit the grounds."

Lindir frowned. "Do all elves have to seek permission to view the court proceedings through Ingwë?"

Silmo nodded and looked pointedly ahead down the passageway, indicating that he wished for Lindir to continue walking. "Aye," he said when Lindir obliged him and moved ahead of him. "Or the other kings of the three kindreds -- Finwë of the Noldor or Olwë of the Teleri. Ingwë is the most likely representative to grant you access to the court, however, as you are associated with his grandson, Glorfindel."

Lindir smiled tightly, his eyes fixed on the path. Was Silmo aware of the conflict of interests between Glorfindel and Ingwë, and himself and Ingwë. Or at least, what he assumed as a conflict of interests between Ingwë and himself -- he had never spoken to the King on the matter... or on any matter. He had never even laid eyes on the King. He rounded another corner in the passageway, went up another series of steps, then blinked when he felt a slight draught in the passageway. As he went around the next corner, he saw the reason why -- a door constructed of iron bars and beyond that one, adjacent to the first and half visible in the side of the passageway, another door constructed of the same... and beyond that... the sunlight gleaming off of the smooth, dry stone floor and highlighting the swaying curves of the cream drapes framing the door on the inside...

The passageway had not led to the heart of the mountain, but rather, to another side of it. And as the first door slid silently open and he entered into the space between the doors and in front of the second door, he saw that beyond the barrier lay a series of empty rooms connected to one another by arches cut out of the living rock. More precisely, living quarters. And what quarters! They were clad in silks and velvets and satin luxuries that equalled, if not surpassed the contents of the room in which he had awoken with Silmo at his side. Lindir gaped.

As he entered, moving slowly through the rooms, he turned his head from side to side, his gaze travelling from the curtains that ran around the stone walls to the rumpled white sheets on the sun-drenched bed below the windows of the first room to the many narrow tables covered with the peculiar, yet familiar objects of crystal and metal that he associated with Sauron's private, small scale experiments.

So even though he is to be charged with the crimes of these experiments, he is permitted to continue with them? How strange, though I do not see any ghastly results. And then, as he thought longer on this and decided that Sauron must have the results of his hobbies near at hand, he looked back at the curtains that draped the walls. Who knew what cupboards and shelves those materials veiled from his eyes? Though undoubtedly, the unseen guards that kept watch over Sauron's every movement... hopefully... were keeping the Maia from exploring in too great a depth any of his crueler interests.

As he passed through the last room, he saw that instead of windows, there were wide doors. Beyond these lay a garden, the far side of which overlooked the edge of the mountain, the horizon a stark cloudless blue, the tips of the distant mountains to the east barely disturbing the canvas to the base. There were no trees, but glossy shrubs shaped the garden into curving lines, their dark red blossoms bulging huge and richly coloured, heavy heads nodding slightly in the breeze. Lindir, feeling his own tresses stirring under the breeze, raised a hand and pushed them back behind his shoulders.

He still could not see Sauron so he walked out onto the porch and down the shallow steps. And on the lower step, as he saw around the corner, he stiffened slightly, his eyes widening. He felt a tightening in his chest.

Across the garden, standing at the far side of where the edge of the garden met with the cliffside stood a tall slender man. Clad in black, his long black hair fluttering in the wind, his arms folded before him with sleeves drawn up past his gaunt elbows, he gazed out expressionlessly at the view of the lands that were the home of the Valar and Maia and Elvenhome. And for a moment, Lindir thought that he was looking on his own eldest son. Brow knitted, he opened his mouth to shout out, then as the moment passed and he saw that it was Sauron, he hesitated, then felt the tension leave his shoulders and he instead stepped out onto the lawn. It sunk beneath his feet, the grass clean and soft... comforting... caressing.

He approached silently until he was standing quite near to the Maia, only a few feet away and slightly to the side of him. And then he put his hands behind his back and waited, his eyes scanning the other's closed expression, the grey eyes seemingly absorbed in something that he could see in the far distance... or perhaps engrossed in something in his own thoughts... in the farthest reaches of his memories, older than Lindir could fathom and before the first dawn of Arda. Lindir had seen this expression before and he supposed that now, especially now, the Maia would feel drawn to searching his memories. For he was standing for his own trial now... which was ongoing... and though Lindir could not comprehend and knew that he could never comprehend what pressures the trial would place upon one who had dealt in so much death and suffering as Sauron, he knew that the content of the trial dealt in the past and so that surely would be now be uppermost in the Maia's mind.

Suddenly Sauron exhaled, his eyes cleared, and he turned slowly, casually, every inch of his body signalling that he had no idea that he was being watched or that indeed it was one of his former thralls and indeed Lindir standing beside him, and turned in the direction of the doors of his quarters. And then he saw Lindir standing between him and those doors. His eyes widened, his mouth opened slightly, his surprise stark across his gaunt face. His arms fell to his sides

Lindir felt his own expression harden slightly. Being looked on by such attentive eyes and not with the sheen of distraction, was not something to which he was used. "I have been told that you wish for me to participate in your trial," he said, recalling the question that had been forefront of his mind as he had left Silmo's rooms. "As a witness against you. Why?"

There was a silence.

And then, just as abruptly as Sauron's expression had changed to surprise, the Maia's expression sobered. "I did not expect you to come here," he said, his voice soft and low -- unthreatening, unimposing, but also... flat. As emotionless as he ever had been. "So why did you flee? If not out of a fear that would have also stayed your wish to come here?"

So he has not changed at all. Lindir looked back at the doors, to where he could see Silmo sitting on the porch steps, the Maia's arms about his knees, eyes watching the breeze blowing petals and leaves in circles on the grass before him. Then he looked back at Sauron... or rather, glanced at him and then turned his head to look over the edge, absently scan the jagged crags of the mountains eastward. "You are mistaken," he said. "It was indeed out of fear that I fled."

"But you are here now. Why?"

Lindir frowned. "It was not fear for myself," he said, raising his gaze to meet the other's eyes, which flickered slightly with an unreadable expression. "But for them -- Laiglas, Lindo, and then Linden. You are not a parent -- I think you would not understand." And probably would not understand even were you a parent, he thought, lacing his hands together behind his back. He glanced at the other's pale, gaunt arms and his thoughts fleetingly returned to Laiglas. He pursed his lips and looked away again.

"That is true. I do not understand. None of the other test subjects showed long-lasting attachment to their offspring -- that bond should not have affected you."

Lindir stared at him incredulously for a few moments. And then he snorted, and as his face filled with mirth, he raised a hand to his mouth to cover his chuckles.

Sauron said nothing, simply waited for him to calm. And as Lindir did so and noticed that the other was waiting patiently, his smile faded as it suddenly struck him that Sauron was relaxed as he had never seen him. There was no haste in his motions and indeed, there was now no need for haste. He stands at a junction in the path of his life, Lindir thought, looking up at his unsmiling face. This is no race, no competition... no battle for power. And he knows it. And then as his thoughts turned to the trial, he looked away again, over the edge and past the mountains to when sky met sea in a hard line. If only it were so easy for his victims to be able to relax... and to forget their grief.

The breeze suddenly kicked up and he saw stray linden petals floating up past the base of the cliff from an unknown source, buoyant on the wind... reminding him of Eönwë. Again, he wondered if it were only Silmo who were privy to this conversation. And if not, how much these other listeners could divine their thoughts. Indeed, is it even possible for them to read Sauron's thoughts if they forced him?

"The bond affects me," he said then, quietly. "You would not tell me your intentions for them so I assumed that they would meet the same fate as the other children. And I did not want that for them." As he sensed Sauron stir to speak, he quickly added, "And I would not have wished them to end up like me, either."

"You were unhappy? I did not realise that you were so," Sauron said. "But elves are skilled at hiding their feelings, and their feelings change quickly, and I admit that I was distracted at the time that you left."

"No! You are wrong!" Lindir exhaled hard, looking sharply back at him, feeling tears welling in his eyes when he saw Sauron's emotionless expression. Knowing that whatever he said, he would never see love in those eyes. "I was happy with you! I truly, truly, never wanted to leave. I never wanted them to know that I was alive -- to meet with Olórin. But I could not allow the children to live in such a place." He felt tears slipping down his face.

"You could have left them there and returned."

Lindir shook his head, wrapping his arms around him. "It is not so easy to return to the condemned when one is wrapped in the security and support of his foes," he said, seeing more linden blossoms floating up on the upwelling breeze through his tears. He could smell their sweet scents.

"So you were happier in..."

"Yes and no!" Lindir burst out, his voice cracking, tears slipping down his face. "I became pregnant. And suddenly a new life had fallen into my hands and all my crimes and all suspicions had been lifted from me. I could not leave Imladris then... and I also could not remain... at least not without rejecting my life with you. And so I chose them. For there is no way that elves can allows their fellows to accept and sympathise with the condemned! There was no way! No way!" And he wept, covering his face with his hands, feeling tears slipping through his fingers, feeling his shoulders shaking with the intensity of his grief. "But I never wanted to leave you. I wanted to return to you. Believe me! Please believe me!" And as he waited and wept, he wept harder, for he knew that however many tears he shed or however many smiles he turned in the Maia's direction, they meant nothing to Sauron. They never had and they never would mean anything more than a peculiarity of elves and of many Valar and Maiar, something to be tolerated or, in the case of his research and his staggering exploits as a dark lord, something to be studied and manipulated. A weakness.

So he was surprised when he felt a hand rest lightly on his head and pull him forward, pull him against the other's chest. He looked up, confused, astonished, and through his tears, saw Sauron looking down at him, watching him, no expression in his eyes except perhaps faint curiosity. And this made new tears spring out of Lindir's eyes and he smiled, closing his eyes, coiling his hands into the front of the other's clothes, inhaling deep of the other's warmth.

They stayed that for a short while and then, just as suddenly as he had pulled Lindir into the awkward embrace, Sauron's hand slipped from his tresses and the Maia stepped away. Lindir opened his eyes.

"These feelings of yours towards me," Sauron said then. "These are what I wish for you to convey to the court."

Back to the topic at hand so swiftly. Lindir frowned as he considered his words. Certainly, his own feelings towards Sauron -- of acceptance, pity, sympathy... and that one that he had fought the hardest to keep a secret -- love, were not something that he imagined were being conveyed to the court by Sauron's other victims. And Lindir was not sure that he did not think Sauron deserved the damning picture that such victims' evidence conveyed of Sauron. But... "But surely there are others who are not thralls who can attest as to your... ability to be..." He struggled for a word. "...virtuous?" he finally decided.

He was only slightly surprised when Sauron responded to the negative. "I did not foresee a need to keep relationships for the sake of relationships," Sauron said.

Lindir swallowed as he heard the unsaid words: that he too had been befriended for a purpose -- to use him to help gain the trust of Lord Celebrimbor, though he had not noticed the Maia's intent at the time. And later... all those millennia as his private servant in his kingdoms... and as another specimen of the firstborn to keep and observe at his whim. He looked back at Sauron. "Why do you wish to show the court that you are capable of virtue?" he asked. "Will it lighten your sentence at all?" Inwardly, he rather thought that his own evidence would do nothing. He did not even know how he could love the Maia himself. It was futile, ridiculous...

"It will affect it," Sauron said.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will not only refuse to remove that new creatures from your body and refuse to return to you to your original form," Sauron said. "But I will also show the courts what I remember of your affection for me. Your situation will be worse at the end."

Lindir nodded slowly. So at the end he would still not be able to reject his time with Sauron, not be able to shun the knowledge that he loved him. And Glorfindel and his children would someday learn of his torn feelings... and he would have to confess to the truth. It was a matter of sooner or later. And that later would surely sap at him over the days, months, and years... perhaps centuries until Glorfindel would learn of the truth and reject him. And... then there was the creature.

He felt the wind stir up, causing his robe to flutter about him, and he turned his head to look back at the edge, at the lands that lay below and around the mountain, a drop that seemed somehow unreal to his eyes. Linden were no longer in the air, but on looking at the grass near the edge, he could see a few yellow petals clinging, shivering, in the blades.

"Before I give my answer, I would learn why it is you wish for me to stand as a witness for those against you? And also, how did you know that I had not already made my decision?"

"I would have thought that the answer to those questions was obvious to one of your intelligence," Sauron said, his brow knitting. "It makes no difference to me whether or not you stand for me or against me -- the evidence, your memories, will not change at all. However, your decision will make a difference to how you are perceived by elves. As for the second question..." He turned his head and looked at the porch on which Silmo still sat, listening to them. Lindir followed his gaze. "Silmo would not have brought you here to speak with me if you had made your decision, for the defendant is not permitted to speak with witnesses for the prosecution before the witness has presented their evidence."

That Sauron had even considered the welfare of them both in his calculations was... in a sense... touching. Lindir looked back at Sauron. The Maia had blocked both escapes and twisted him towards the one most beneficial to him. And though Lindir was sorely tempted to simply flee from the trial and return to Tirion, who would that benefit? How would it protect his children? How would it protect Glorfindel? Sauron had him in a bind, a bind that Lindir had brought on himself. "I will do as you wish," he said.

Chapter 06

It was by now late in the afternoon and Glorfindel had not found either Laiglas or even the faintest clue about the whereabouts of Lindir. Glingal had also disappeared. Tired and frustrated, and starting to feel the weight of Elrond's words that if the Valar wished to hide Lindir from him, they would succeed despite all of his efforts, he had turned to his last child within reach and that was Linden.

He had found her on the outskirts of the city, standing on the side of the main north-south mountain path. She had been talking with a group of merchants who appeared to be travelling further up the slope of Taniquetil. They left as Glorfindel approached, wishing her well and bowing politely.

"Have you had no luck too?" Glorfindel asked, reading her anxious expression. She nodded, lips pursed, hands clasped together behind her back, and Glorfindel sighed. "I, too, have had no luck, though I have learned that some witnesses are residing in secret houses further up on the mountain. It is a daunting prospect to try to search it without more clues, though." He looked up pointedly at the towering mountain -- tallest in Arda -- at the countless nooks and crevasses and the many thousands... perhaps tens of thousands of what were and what could be paths etched into the cliff faces. "I was wondering if we should wait a few days before starting to comb the labyrinths of this sacred place? For all we know, Lindir may be returned to us later today."

"I agree. And actually, I came up here not searching for Lindir, but Laiglas." She nodded up the path to where the merchants with whom she had been talking earlier were slowly disappearing, dust rising in their wake. "Those elves live in a village further up the slope. When they came down before dawn, they were stopped by an elf matching Laiglas' description travelling by foot in the opposite direction. It would seem that Laiglas went up there in the small hours of this morning, asking people if they had seen a certain carrier the previous night."

"Carrier?"

She nodded, smiling wanly. "I inquired about the carrier's description in the city. Apparently it was seen leaving Ingwë's halls late yesterday afternoon. So he is far ahead of us in the search and it seems that he wishes to do this alone. Ai, but it is insulting to the rest of us, but that is Laiglas."

Glorfindel sighed heavily and raked his hand through his hair, which felt as if it had fallen completely out of its ponytail. He despised Laiglas for the elf's lack of consideration... no, blatant disregard of the fact that the elf knew all too well that he was not the only one who cared about Lindir.

Linden stirred and spoke again. "I hope you will not hold this against me, Glorfindel, but I intend to return back to the halls to rest now. I am rather of the opinion that Lindir is not in any great danger. Barely one whole day has passed since he disappeared and although I agree that the circumstances surrounding his disappearance are unsettling and strange, I have faith in the intentions of the Valar and Maiar of Aman."

"I have that too, but after hearing Laiglas' account of how Eönwë and Irmo's people approached Lindir yesterday... and their manner of stealing him away from us without an explanation, my beliefs have been shaken," Glorfindel said. "But I respect your decision. I know that your faith in the good intentions of the Valar has not been lightly chosen and that you are far from a blind follower."

She turned and smiled up at him. "Thank you."

"Before you go," he said quickly, when he saw her bow and make to move towards the main street into the city. "Have you seen Glingal?"

She gave a little laugh. "Ah, yes. He was helping me until earlier this afternoon when we met with some of his... your younger female cousins and they invited him to afternoon tea. He was reluctant to leave the search, but after skipping yesterday night's supper, I felt it necessary to convince him to indulge in some social banter." She bowed again and turned once again to walk back to the city. Glorfindel turned back around to look up at the mountain and he sighed again.

~*~

The wind had stilled. And behind them, Lindir heard Silmo rise and he turned his head to watch the Maia approaching them, his face unsmiling. As he drew to Lindir's side, he said, softly, "So this is your decision, Lindir?"

"Aye."

Silmo looked at Sauron. "Then, as Lindir is now a witness against you, we shall have to take our leave soon. But before we do, I would have you examine his body to ensure that all is well with him." He looked at Lindir. "This is provided that it is well with you."

"Ah... yes," Lindir said, smiling hesitantly, rather taken by surprise at the suddenness of the proposal, but not against it. He trusted Sauron's skill in examining his own experiments. He looked back at Sauron's closed face. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about this creature inside of me. I noticed that it did not hurt as much as the earlier one."

Sauron did not so much as blink. "That is because it is a more virulent type."

"Uh?" Lindir smiled weakly, not liking the sound of the word, but not sure that he should be wary yet. "I do not understand."

"It works considerably faster." Sauron clarified, dead-pan.

"Oh."

Sauron gazed at him intently for a few moments longer and then stretched a pale hand towards the doors back to his rooms. "Let us go inside. You will be more comfortable on the bed."

Lindir inclined his head. "Aye. Thank you." He turned and walked back to the porch. As he entered the rooms, he started to undo the fastenings of his robe. A familiar sense of detachment washed over him and he supposed, as he walked through the rooms, that it was just like old times.

As he approached the bed in the first room, he stopped to slip the robe over his head. He cast it across the chair underneath the windows and near the bed's end. His loincloth soon followed. Then he turned and, not looking at either of the watching Maiar, crawled onto the rumpled white sheets of the bed and lay down on his back, a deep pillow beneath his head. The sun that streamed through the window bathed his naked body, warming his skin and casting it in a golden hue.

"Comfortable?" Sauron asked, sitting down beside him. Lindir nodded and as he saw Sauron stretched out his hands, he closed his eyes, hissing slightly when the Maia placed them on his abdomen and he felt the creature within him jolt sharply as it was rudely awoken from its dormancy by its master and its limbs, already fused and woven into the transformed flesh about them, forcibly shifted to prod and pull at the organs around them, at the various tubes. The sensation of being felt from within him... it was familiar strangeness.

He did not expect pain so when he suddenly felt something stretch violently beneath the Maia's urgings, the creature squirming slightly, he gasped, his eyes flying open, feeling himself break out into a cold sweat.

"Ai, ai! That hurts," he hissed. Almost instantly, the pain lessened and Sauron met his gaze.

"That is your birth chamber," he said. "Completely new, I see. The muscles will need a few more days. I did not realise that you had the first one completely taken out and was overly forceful."

"A-aye," Lindir breathed, nodding faintly, feeling slightly nauseous. Elrond had removed the organ along with the first creature when the half-elf had done his first operation on him.

"And here are your milk glands. Also new, I see." Lindir winced as the creature obliged Sauron's summons and he felt the glands massaged by the tentacles that had knitted themselves into the walls. They were just above his bladder. "They seem to be producing milk a little slowly, however, as they are barely half-full. I would have expected you to be ready for your first milking by now."

"Ah, Silmo has already done it," Lindir quickly said, looking over to said Maia, who was standing slightly behind Sauron and observing the examination intently. Silmo nodded silently. "At noon."

Sauron's brow creased. "And how ready were you, then?"

"About the same as I am now, perhaps a little heavier."

"Then that is normal," Sauron said calmly, and turned his attention to the flesh between Lindir's thighs, sliding a hand down there to briefly handle the elf's penis and then release it to gently cup the soft sacs nestled behind the organ. Lindir parted his legs slightly to help him, feeling heat infuse his cheeks at the intimate touch.

And then, no sooner had the Maia taken them in hand then he released them and Sauron removed his hands from him. "I notice that whoever operated on you did not change this part of you, merely cut the necessary tubes to your birthing chamber. It is still mature, this area, and seems to be manufacturing eggs well. Turn over and I will check that the system is sound as well as take a sample." He got up from the bed and Lindir, brow knitted as he recalled what this part of the examination involved, rolled over and put his arms around the pillow beneath his head. He turned his head to one side to watch Sauron walking over to the wall and pulling back one of the drapes that covered it to reveal a series of shelves behind it. There were a few jars there and as Lindir had suspected, more white creatures suspended there in the transparent liquid.

Silmo, however, did not seem to have suspected this twist. And as the servant of Irmo watched Sauron take down a jar of a particularly large creature, uncork it, and reach in to retrieve its squirming contents, he stepped forward. "What are you doing?"

"Attempting to mate them," Sauron replied, not bothering to look at the other Maia. "If the elf's transformation is complete, the parasite will have fused their reproductive organs and when it mates with this one, it will transfer the eggs that it shares with its host to its mate."

"Wait!" Silmo hissed, quickly reaching forward and taking Sauron's wrist, halting the other Maia's movements. He looked confused. "You mean to say that this will impregnate Lindir?"

"It will not harm the host or impregnate him. Lindir's body is now designed to continuously produce eggs so his supply is infinite and no parasite will attempt to invade an already occupied host. The only creature that will be impregnated is the one in my hand." Sauron looked back at Lindir. "Spread your legs."

As Lindir obeyed, he heard Silmo ask, anxiously, "Is this well with you, Lindir?"

"Yes." Lindir's voice shook in his ears and on seeing Silmo's doubtful look, he swallowed, balled up his confidence, and nodded firmly, his cheek rubbing the pillow. "I have done this before." But he had only had this experience once before and memories of it still caused an uneasy tightening in his groin.

There was a pause and then Silmo released Sauron's arm. "As you wish," he said, standing back. "Be gentle with him, Sauron."

Sauron inclined his head and turned back to Lindir, who, on seeing him lean closer to his lower half, closed his eyes. When he felt the first damp tentacle touch the back of one of his thighs and then another, investigating his skin with its suckers, and the sensation of water sliding down between his legs to wet his engorging sex and drip down onto the sheets, he balled his hands into the pillow and buried his face in it.

Like with all the other creatures that he had ever seen or experience, this investigation did not last long before the ends of the tentacle found the entrance they sought and one forced its way past the resisting muscles to claim and fill him with its swollen, slimy mass. He gasped into the pillow, then whimpered in both pleasure and pain when he felt the tentacle strain forward, widening and elogating its mass so that it might crawl deeper, other tentacles already licking around the mouth of his entrance, some probing questioningly at the already blocked entrance. If Sauron had not been holding the rest of the creature, it surely would have attempted to dart in and catch the existing occupant at unawares. As he felt it contract again and push deeper, he felt a groan about to escape his throat and after briefly debating whether or not he should suppress it, he instead let it out and muffled it in the pillow, flushing harder in embarrassment. He remembered now.

He stilled, breathing hard, when he felt a hand lightly touch the small of his back. The tentacles that were squirming just inside his entrance, filling him, shifting over each other within him, also seemed to calm slightly at the touch as if Sauron were addressing them as well, and Lindir exhaled shakily; relieved.

"You are too tense, Lindir," Sauron said quietly from behind him. "Relax."

"But..."

The bed shifted slightly as Sauron moved and then Lindir felt the hand shift up his back to brush his hair out of his eyes. He looked uncertainly up at his lord who gazed back down at him, his eyes flat and emotionless. "Relax."

"But I can not!" Tears sprung to Lindir's eyes and he cringed when he felt the tentacles push further into him, crawling higher and higher. He cried out in pain, clutching tightly at the sheets of the bed, tears springing to his eyes. "Please! Please take it out!"

"You can! Do not be afraid to make noises," Sauron said. "Stop holding in your tension. Only I will hear these sounds. Otherwise, the pain will not abate, but increase, and there will be no pleasure." He stroked Lindir's head once again, then shifted back to the end of the bed. "Do as I say. For your own sake."

Inside him, Lindir felt his occupant stir and send an answering tentacle sliding down to meet the intruder. And as they twined together, he cried out again... and again, and again, writing on the sheets, now only pleasure in his voice as he felt the creature's core pulsate within him, sending ripples of desire through his entire abdomen and sex. And then there was a sudden explosion of hot wetness within his entrance and he felt the intruder slacken. He stilled, gasping, hands tightening spasmodically on the pillow, still unsated. Moments later and he felt Sauron quickly drag the intruding creature from him and it fell away with a wet noise. An uncomfortable wet coldness immediately replaced the warmth.

"It is a success," Sauron said behind him as if speaking mostly to Silmo for Lindir was still lying with his face in the pillow, still dazed and uncomfortably erect... and wet. "See, it has swallowed the eggs -- they are that cream-coloured mass."

"Put it away," Silmo said quietly, sounding faintly sickened.

"As you wish. But first..." The bed shifted and Lindir felt the Maia's hand reach between his thighs to grasp his arousal. Moments later, and he felt it limpen, the blood rushing away from the flesh. And then the hand disappeared and Sauron rose and there was the sound of the creature being slipped back into the watery contents of the jar. As he heard the jar being placed back on the shelf and the sound of the drapes being pulled back over the shelves, Lindir felt the bed shift again as Silmo said down beside him. A hand touched his back.

"Rise. I will show you to where you may wash," Silmo said softly. "And then we shall leave."

Lindir obediently crawled from the bed and followed Silmo through to the next room where the Maia drew back the drapes on one side of the room, casting the hidden stone room beyond in light. It was a bathroom, but as Lindir entered it and saw the wide bath that took up one side of the room, he saw that it was no ordinary bath for it was flowing with water that entered at one end and drained on the other side. Steam was rising from it and he reached in and touched it gingerly, surprised to find it hot.

"This is one of the streams that comes down from the summit," Silmo said, looking at it, "but it is heated before it enters these rooms. Go and bathe in it. I will wait."

Lindir nodded and climbed into the bath where he sat down on a low stone seat in the far corner, near the drain. From there, he could lean against the wall and watch the going-ons in most of the rest of the rooms. He watched Silmo return to the bedroom to retrieve the robe and loincloth from the seat under the window. After folding them, the Maia sat down on the seat, the garments on his lap, and looked at Sauron, who was pulling the topmost sheets from the bed and bundling them into his arms.

When Sauron had finished, he turned and looked at Silmo. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

Silmo's brows lifted. "I was wondering how one such as you could have possibly taken up with the likes of Melkor." His eyes narrowed. "Your absent morals aside, you are too intelligent to believe his lies."

Sauron said nothing, turning away and walking into Lindir's room. He put the soiled sheets into a basket at the other end of the bath, then turned to look at Lindir, his empty grey eyes scanning Lindir up and down. Then he turned away and returned to the bedroom to make the bed, his long black hair swaying gently behind him. Lindir's brow knitted as he watched him, watched the pale gaunt limbs and long hands moving over the sheets. He was again reminded of Laiglas and as he sat there leaning against the wall, the smooth stone cool against his back, the clean waters gently washing over his skin and purifying him, he thought awhile on the similarities between the Maia and his eldest son.

Silmo spoke again to Sauron. "I think that if you ever did turn your mind to finding your own heart, it would be a bitter journey for you," he said. "But even so, perhaps you should try to find it for if you are not careful, you may stumble across it later when you have done even more things to hurt yourself." When Sauron glanced at him, he added, in a more subdued tone, "this is assuming that you were created with a heart, of course."

Sauron ignored him and turned back to the bed, his hands passing skillfully over the cloth. Lindir, still frowning slightly, climbed out of the bath and towelled himself dry. Then he went to the bedroom to take his clothes from Silmo and donned them, the Maia helping him with the ties and the fastenings, brushing aside his hands when Lindir attempted to do them himself with a mumured "allow me". When Lindir was dressed, they looked at Sauron, who turned towards them.

"We will take our leave of you," Silmo said. "I expect I will not see you again until after Lindir had presented his evidence. Lindir too."

"Indeed." Sauron said, inclining his head slightly to Silmo. When he straightened, his gaze slid to Lindir and he noticed the elf's frown, which was still in place. "Is something wrong?"

Lindir swallowed. "Ah..."

Beside him, Silmo stirred, as if sensing his uncertainty. "As I said, it is likely that this will be the last time that you will see one another before your part in the trial has ended, assuming you will use me as your medium in court," he said. "So not be afraid of seizing this opportunity."

"A-aye," Lindir said, nodding. He opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated once more.

Although this is now a time for honesty, perhaps it is better if I do not know the answer. It may complicate things for the trial... and even moreso for Laiglas.

He closed his mouth and smiled, shaking his head. "It was nothing." He inclined his head towards Sauron. "I wish you well. Please take care."

Sauron did not bow or return the words.

As they left Sauron's quarters and walked on the path that led back to Silmo's room, Silmo commented, "You did not seem to mind that Sauron did not bow to you."

"Eh?" Lindir turned to look at him. Silmo was walking on the outer edge of the path, just as he had done on the way up; the side closest to the cliff-face. There was a frown on the Maia's face. Lindir smiled. "Ah, I think I did not mind because if he bowed to me, it would seem strange," he said. "I think he knows that I know that bowing to an elf is, for him, not a show of respect."

Silmo shot him a confused look. "You know this, yet you can still bow to him?"

"Of course. I respect him," Lindir said. "I think..." He rubbed his hands absently, feeling them slightly damp -- he had been fiddling with his hair as they had left the room. "I.think that if Sauron were convinced that the Firstborn and Secondborn... and indeed Dwarves too, were members of the Valar and Maiar, he would consider treating them with more dignity. As it stands, he does not see me... us as more than a sheep is to a shephard."

"Even shephards care for their sheep," Silmo said.

Lindir smiled wanly, nodding. "A-aye."

There was a short silence. Lindir's attention shifted to listening to the sound of their footsteps and looking down the path -- to the south -- to observe the distant city of Tirion shining under the late afternoon sun. It would be sunset by the time he returned to Silmo's rooms. He wondered whether he would be allowed to return to Ingwë's halls or if he would have to stay somewhere in the mountain until the conclusion of his participation in the trial. He wondered if Glorfindel and his children knew that he was here -- wondered if they had managed to find out some information, in spite of Eönwë's vagueness to Ingwë in the bathroom in the minutes before he was taken away.

Silmo broke his train of thought. "So he has never bowed to you, then?" the Maia asked. "Not even when you first met him?"

First met him? Lindir's thoughts flitted to when he first came across Sauron in Eregion in the Second Age and he smiled. "Ah, yes he did bow then," he said. "But at the time he was in disguise and aiming to befriend us. The easiest way to do so would be to pretend to be one of us and share and support our customs, at least outwardly."

There was another silence.

Then Lindir spoke. "What will happen now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where are we going now?"

"We are returning to my rooms and then, depending on your wishes, I will take you either to another part of this mountain where you will stay until you have presented your evidence or back to Ingwë's halls."

Lindir nodded. "Does Glorfindel know what has happened?"

"He knows nothing," Silmo said. "Few of the Valar and Maiar and no other elves besides yourself know of what has transpired here. And with that in mind, I would ask that you only speak of this matter to the people of Irmo, Eönwë, and our lords."

"And Glorfindel and my children?"

"That is up to you," Silmo said.

Lindir nodded slowly. "Then... then I wish to return to Ingwë's halls," he said. After all, this may well be my last opportunity to see them... at least with smiles on their faces. But then he frowned. "But how am I to explain my returned condition to him?" Glorfindel will undoubtedly notice the changes, but I will probably be able to hide them from Laiglas, Glingal, and Linden provided I do not let Glorfindel make me pregnant again.

"You cannot hide it from him?"

"Eh? Well..." Lindir blushed.

"Hm. So it is like that, is it?" Silmo's voice was coloured with amusement and Lindir looked at him, pink-faced when he saw that the Maia was casting him a sidelong, contemplative look, a small smile on his face. He flushed harder and Silmo's smile widened. "About that," the Maia said. "I know of something that may help you."

Not long afterwards, they reached Silmo's rooms. There, beneath the windows, Lindir saw that a covered plate of food was sitting and waiting for them on a small table between two chairs. When he smelt the cooked food and felt his stomach twist in anticipation and mild complaint, he recalled that he had not eaten anything since noon the previous day.

"Please sit and eat," Silmo bid him. "I will join you presently."

Lindir nodded and sat down to take the plate. On it, he found a number of different types of food laid out for him, neatly arrayed on the wood. He smiled and started to eat, looking back as he did so to watch Silmo draw aside a curtain behind the head of the bed that Lindir had not noticed earlier and disappear through the space behind it. He was gone for some while and when he returned, he was holding something in his hand, something disc-shaped, slightly concave, and flesh-coloured. He stared at it when Silmo placed it on the table beside his plate and sat down beside him.

"Unfortunately, it will be impossible to hide the changes from your lover," Silmo said. "He will notice the milk."

"So what do you advise I say to him?" Lindir asked promptly, rather thinking that as Silmo seemed to know more about what was going on than him, that he wanted to hear the Maia's advice on this matter. But then again, he rather thought he knew what Silmo would say and when he heard the Maia speak again, his suspicions were confirmed.

"I would advise you to tell him the truth," Silmo said. "If you wish to come up with some excuse -- some falsehood, that is your decision, though I do not think he would appreciate the dishonesty."

Lindir nodded, suddenly feeling rather glum as if he had just been chastised. He looked at the disc. "And... what is this strange item?"

Silmo leaned forward and picked it up, handed it out to Lindir who took it cautiously and blinked when he found it soft and flexible... and slightly spongy. "If fitted snugly over the entrance to your birthing chamber, it will block the passage of your lover's seed," Silmo said, leaning back in his seat and propping his arms on the wooden arms. "Female visitors who venture through the wilder parts of Irmo's realm are advised to wear these to ensure that even if they are led astray by the illusions created by the male residents, they will not fall pregnant." He smirked when Lindir's blush returned slightly. "It has not been tested on an elf in your condition before or in that part of the body, but the spells that make it effective should still apply and prevent it from falling away. You may take it with you, if you wish."

Lindir nodded, inclining his head slightly in a small bow, hands clasped together in his lap, the disc inside them. "I will. Thank you."

"Or perhaps you would rather I fit it for you?"

Lindir hesitated, rather thinking that if he could avoid having anyone touching his body for the next few months, including Glorfindel, then he would be quite content. But Silmo did have a point; what if he fitted it incorrectly and ended up pregnant after telling Glorfindel that everything was safe? He coloured harder. "I would appreciate it if you could do it," he said, not at all comforted when Silmo's smirk widened.

"Very well." The Maia turned his head and nodded at the bed. When Lindir hesitated again, he added, softly, amusement colouring his voice. "This day seems to have many variations on the one theme for you, Lindir. But do not worry. I will do nothing more than insert it."

"Aye." Lindir rose and went over to the bed to climb onto it. At Silmo's urging, he moved to the head to kneel and lean forward with his head down on the pillows and bottom raised.

It was very quick. Silmo deftly pulled up his robe and undid his loincloth. The Maia's fingers were cool and the object felt strange as it was pushed inside of him, but it was not painful at all and Silmo's lack of hesitance reassured him. He vaguely wondered how Silmo, as a male, could be so self-assured at this task and then decided that perhaps he shouldn't ask. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over and Silmo was pulling his robe back down.

"It is over. You may sit up," Silmo said, standing and going over to a wash basin set in the side of the room to wash his hands. Lindir sat up and experimentally bounced up and down on the bed before rising, frowning slightly. He could feel the disc inside him and though it did not hurt him, it still felt somewhat strange. When he saw Silmo turn around, though, he hurriedly cleared his expression and smiled.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head again.

"You are welcome." Silmo said, returning his smile. "And now, I think we are finished for now. You may return to Ingwë's halls until the trial requests your presence." He went over to the curtain behind the bed and drew it aside, gesturing that Lindir was to walk through the space behind it with him. "Come," he said. "It is time for you to return to Ingwë's halls."

Chapter 07

The room behind Silmo’s bedroom had none of the intricate woodwork of the Maia’s abode. It was, like Sauron’s quarters, carven out of the stone, but instead of curtains, the walls were bare save for a few lamp scones, each of which was fixed into the wall beside various unveiled archways that led to passageways that were equally unadorned and whose destinations were hidden. Silmo now led Lindir down one of the passageways, a cold and closed one that did not let in the outside air or light and which seeped often with the icy water of the mountain flows. It reminded Lindir of the fact that beyond the lands around Ingwë's halls, it was almost winter.

They walked in silence for most of the journey. Lindir had no wish to discuss what had recently happened or to try to learn more about his upcoming ordeal regarding the trial. Truly, he did not wish to think more on it than he already had done, especially now, and he had a feeling, from Silmo’s lack of questions as they walked, that the Maia perceived and understood his reluctance.

It was almost midnight when at last they arrived at a door – the end of the passageway. Lindir knew that it was the end for when he looked out of the window carven in the stone wall adjacent to the door, he saw that they had, by some miracle, come level with the lower hills around the base of the mountain and that a few thousand of miles height had been crossed in the space of a few mere hours.

Silmo did not open the door immediately, but instead turned to face him. “This is where we must part for today,” he said. “Ingwë’s servants lie beyond this door, awaiting you. I will contact you when it is time for you to present your evidence to the court. You may decide then whether you wish to convey your evidence directly to the court or through me.”

“When am I likely to be summoned?” Lindir asked. “Will it be weeks, months…” He hesitated before saying, “years?” If the latter were the case, perhaps he should advise Glorfindel and his children to return to Tirion in the meantime; he doubted Glorfindel would leave his side, but his children certainly should be persuaded from tarrying here – they had their own lives in Elvenhome to embrace. He was therefore slightly relieved when he heard Silmo’s response.

“It is likely to be a few months,” the Maia said. “It depends, however, on the wishes of the court. Once they learn of what has transpired today, it is probable that they will wish to bring the day of the fulfilment of Sauron’s favour closer.”

Lindir nodded. “And if I have further questions to ask you in the meantime about the court?”

Silmo smiled softly. “I am a servant of Irmo, the Master of Dreams,” he said. “Speak to me in your dreams and I will attend to you.” Then he bowed. “I wish you well.”

Lindir returned the courtesy. “As do I. Thank you for your concern today.”

“There is no reason to thank me. Please forgive me my treatment of you. In spite of the circumstances, it was still ill. Thank you for your cooperation.” Then Silmo turned and opened the door, revealing the high windy plateau of a hill path beyond it and a group of elves sitting and standing some hundred or so feet away on the low grass near the beginning of the descent. Lindir saw Laiglas among those standing. “Now go.”

~*~

Glorfindel had stirred from slumber in the small hours of the morning with the inexplicable feeling that he should be somwhere else. So, not one for ignoring his instincts, he had donned his cloak (he had not changed out of his day clothes) and made his way back to the start of the mountain path at which he had met Linden the afternoon of the previous day.

Not long after he had exited the city and found a place to sit beneath a tree, he saw, in the distance, a small party descending the path. As they neared, he recognised them by their livery as servants of his grandfather’s house. And then he saw Laiglas. Behind the elf, his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were tired or occupied with troubled thought walked Lindir. Glorfindel’s eyes filled with tears and he ran forward, splitting the party, to envelope the smaller elf in his arms.

“I am so glad,” he said, smiling when he felt Lindir sag bonelessly against him and his head fall forward to his chest, his tresses brushing against Glorfindel’s chin and throat, slightly damp from a coldness that Glorfindel could not perceive in the warmth of the night.

Lindir said nothing, but after a moment, Glorfindel felt the elf’s shoulders start to shake and hands coil into the front of his tunic beneath his cloak. He frowned, alarmed. “What is wrong?” he asked, running a hand up to cup the back of Lindir’s head. “My love, why are you crying?”

But Lindir said no more and indeed, seemed too exhausted to even speak at all to even greet him. Worriedly, Glorfindel gently raised him in his arms – his lover really was little heavier than an elfling and little taller than one as well – and turned to follow Laiglas and the rest of the group down into the city and to Ingwë’s halls. By the time they reached the halls and entered them, Glorfindel, on looking down at Lindir’s face, realised that the elf was fast asleep. He smiled.

“Be gentle with him.”

Glorfindel looked up at Laiglas, who had spoken. The elf was standing ahead of him in the entrance hall with arms folded across his chest and watching him with a sour expression. Beyond his adopted son, the rest of the group had already dissipated in different directions of the halls. Glorfindel frowned.

“Why do you think I would not be gentle?” he asked.

Laiglas gaze slid away, his lips thinning. “You intend to question him on what happened, do you not?” He paused, letting the truth of his words hang in the air between them for a few moments before continuing. “If he does not answer and weeps in your presence, do not ask him for an explanation.”

Glorfindel stiffened. Laiglas words could almost be taken as an insult of his character and a small part of him argued that it probably was meant as such. But he crushed his resentment and nodded.

Laiglas inclined his head. “Then, if you wish, I will leave him in your hands tonight,” he said. “Please watch him carefully.”

This time, his words were definitely meant to hurt and hurt they did. The reminder of how he had fainted in the bath while Lindir had been taken away was like a slap to his face. Face tense, Glorfindel watched as Laiglas, with a thin smile, turned and walked away down the passageway of the wing that led to his and Glorfindel’s his rooms. After a few moments, Glorfindel exhaled and turned after him, careful not to awaken his sleeping lover.

~*~

It was still dark when Lindir awoke, stirred not by a lack of tiredness or Glorfindel, the latter of whom was spooned around him and from the sound of his breathing, fast asleep, but by a persistent throbbing in his groin. He winced, realising immediately what was the matter. One millennia of freedom could not wipe away this knowledge, what had been imprinted on his spirit, what had become his livelihood and then own yoke to suffer for over three millennia.

It had been well over twelve hours since he had last been milked.

Carefully, wary of waking Glorfindel if he suddenly jolted the elf, he slid his hand down beneath the sheets to grasp the source of the tension. Moments later and he drew back his hand as if stung.

Glorfindel arm was slung over his waist.

Lindir stared wildly around the bedroom. What was he to do? If he awoke Glorfindel now, whether by creeping from the bed or by jostling his arm, then he would surely face the other’s questions. He would have to explain himself and he truly did not feel capable of answering such inquiries yet… if ever. He felt tears spring to his eyes. Elbereth help him.

Willing the erection away would do naught. But maybe… maybe he could find a way to avoid the arm around him. Even a little attention to his hardness, even the barest and lightest stroke, would release some of the liquid caught up within and behind it and then he could wait awhile longer in less torment until Glorfindel moved his arm.

So he reached down again, carefully avoiding his lover’s arm, and tentatively, cautiously, gathered up the ends of his night shirt and found the throbbing hardness with the tips of his fingers. At the first brief touch, he exhaled shakily, trying desperately to restrict the heaving of his ribcage.

Unable to reach far enough to grasp the whole organ in the palm of his hand, he instead took it between his fingers and thumb and drew upwards, his body thrumming with the delight of anticipation and sobbing with his frustration. He could have cursed Glorfindel’s presence at that moment.

As he reached the tip, intending to reverse the motion, he suddenly halted, alarmed as he felt his fingertips wettened, suddenly slippery on his organ. And not simply wettened. Alarmed, he hurriedly slid his middle finger right around the throbbing flesh and his eyes widened as he found a steady stream of wetness on the other side. His arousal was not only dewing with milk, it was weeping with the stuff -- nay, drooling. He could feel it descending across his hip and seeping into the night shirt and sheets beneath them.

Aghast, he felt a choke of anguish escape his lips and before he could muffle it completely, it escaped and he screwed his up face in despair as he felt the elf behind him, finally, stir awake.

Horrified, Lindir froze, his hand on his erection, his arm awkwardly bent over Glorfindel’s arm. Would Glorfindel notice that he was awake? Had Glorfindel known that he had cried out? Would Glorfindel bother to question him?

He knew, even before Glorfindel ran a hand down his back and kissed the top of his shoulder, that Glorfindel knew that he was awake. Indeed, he knew that he was a fool to even hope that Glorfindel would not notice that he was awake. Any mildly attentive elf as close as Glorfindel was to him now would be aware of his current state, much less a lover, much less a renown captain (and diplomat) who was honed through battle, court debates, and many hunting exploits to read the body language of elves and beasts.

“You are already awake?” Glorfindel’s voice was soft, curious. “You seemed exhausted earlier. I expected you to sleep much longer.”

“Mm.” Earlier? Ah yes, he had been exhausted then, back when Glorfindel had met him outside the city. It had seemed that the very sight of Glorfindel had released his tension. He had surprised himself at how fatigued he really had been by the events that he had endured over the previous two days as he had, for some reason, not noticed his exhaustion until that moment. He smiled, feeling the tears in his eyes well even more. Did Glorfindel truly realise how trusted, how loved… how safe he made him feel?

Glorfindel kissed his shoulder again. The arm over Lindir’s waist shifted slightly, callused fingers rubbed over the base of his ribcage and at the question, at the touch that seemed to run straight to his groin, Lindir felt himself start to silently weep. If only Glorfindel would remove his arm and go back to sleep. If only Glorfindel would touch him and ask no more questions. If only there was no need for explanations and Glorfindel already knew and had forgiven all his secrets. If only… oh, if only he never had this condition, never knew what he knew, never kept hidden what he kept hidden, and their love could be pure.

“Is something wrong?” And then Glorfindel’s arm bumped against Lindir’s – that arm that was frozen, its fingers guiltily clasped over his throbbing hardness. There was a pause and then, moments later, Glorfindel’s hand had darted down, almost as if it were a race, and found his hand and what it held within it.

“You should have woken…” Glorfindel began to say, taking him in hand and firmly stroking him. And then he stopped. Froze. And Lindir, as he realised that Glorfindel had registered the liquid coating his hand, choked again, not bothering to muffle his frustration, his pain, his delight.

Glorfindel drew back slightly and turned him over then, rolled him onto his back and pushed down the sheets, pushed himself up so that he could gaze down at him and scan his body. “My love, why are you…” As Glorfindel looked back up and saw his face, his eyes widened and his face filled with concern and confusion. When he next spoke, his voice was soft and pained. “Why are you crying?”

Lindir attempted to roll away from under him, but Glorfindel caught him by the shoulder and firmly, but gently pressed him back down beneath him. The hand with which he caught him was the same and Lindir felt the wetness as though someone had touched him with a brand. He sobbed anew and thrust away again at his lover.

“Lindir!” Glorfindel tugged harder and Lindir fell back beneath him. He would have pushed away again – anything to flee from his lover’s sight and questioning gaze when he felt Glorfindel’s hand return to his hardness and the elf squeeze gently, achingly on it. And at the touch, Lindir felt the strength of resistence flee from his limbs and turning his head away, covering his face with his hands, he sobbed in both despair and delight.

~*~

Glorfindel stared down at his crying spouse, wondering if he had done right in stopping him fleeing in such a way. He had never seen Lindir in such a state, never felt or seen so much milk. What had happened? He looked down at the throbbing organ in his hand. It was seeping with the white liquid and as he kneaded it he saw more of the stuff flow out, piqued by a moan that sent ripples of desire straight to his own groin.

Long ago, a few years into their relationship and before Elrond’s final operation, he had often entertained tormenting Lindir like this -- keeping the elf from his twice daily milking so that the elf might end up as he did now – hard, unfulfilled, desirous, helpless, wanton beneath him. Begging like a frustrated cow would a lazy milker at dawn. The very thought that Lindir could not orgasm, could not release his pent up tension until the very last drop had been taken from him had never ceased to arouse him then and it seemed it did not fail now. One hand gently stroking the other’s swollen need, he bent his head to the centre of the other’s chest to press kisses over the other’s skin, pushing aside his puddled tresses as he went, feeling the other’s body heaving beneath his lips, and tasting the other’s sweat. When he came across one of Lindir’s nipples, he paused to lick at it, hearing Lindir’s gasps turn to soft cries as he encircled the nub with his tongue a few times, then gently tugged at it with his teeth.

He moved lower, shifting his limbs so that he now knelt between Lindir’s legs, which obligingly spread themselves to accommodate him. Hands suddenly rested on his head, pushing him downwards, Lindir urging him to move his mouth lower, an unspoken request in the other’s motions and an enthusiasm that made Glorfindel smile as he realised that Lindir was no longer crying, save perhaps with joy. Although he wanted to ask the reason behind the elf's returned condition, he knew that now was not the time.

The skin was now wet beneath his lips, sweet and sticky with the other’s milk and he paused in his ministrations to raise his free hand and push his tresses out of the path of his lips, snickering when he heard Lindir groan in frustration, the elf’s fingers dragging on his hair.

“No more,” the elf suddenly gasped. “Glorfindel, no more.”

Glorfindel smirked as he bent his head to nuzzle against the other’s arousal, felt the other’s milk wet against his cheek as he pressed kisses to its side. With his hand, he rubbed the base of the erection, his hand, covered with liquid, slipping on the silky flesh. He could sense that Lindir was close to completion. How long had the elf been trying to relieve himself of his hardness before he had awoken?

“Glorfindel.” Lindir’s voice sounded strained. “Please, my love. Glorfindel.” His fingers dragged harder on Glorfindel’s hair and finally, Glorindel relented and wrapped his lips around the weeping tip, his hand working rapidly to draw the elf’s release from him. Lindir shuddered, the last of the milk was drawn from him, and then, with a deep sigh, his body slumped, gasping to catch his breath.

Glorfindel, smirking again, crawled up to look at his face and at the old trails of tears that glistened on his cheeks and on either side of his eyes where they had run into his hairline. Lindir gazed back exhaustedly, but there was a smile on his lips that was echoed by his following words.

“I love you,” he whispered. And hearing this, Glorfindel leaned down to press their lips together, feeling Lindir’s lips dry against his own and the elf’s breathing laboured on his face as he pulled away at the end and drew his lover into his arms. The sheets were damp, but he sensed that Lindir did not care and so neither did he. Now he understood again why he had never moved to ask Lindir to avoid milking himself so that he might torment him. As he rubbed the exhausted elf’s back and pressed kisses on his chest, he whispered his response.

“I love you too.”

It was light when Lindir next woke and this time it was not because of him, but of Glorfindel. He could sense Glorfindel watching him.

This was nothing new. He often woke up to Glorfindel watching him, whether in Imladris or here in Aman. The elf-lord tended to wake considerably earlier than him, even when they did sleep together, perhaps a reflection of their different lifestyles -- Lindir was a minstrel who was used to being most active at night and Glorfindel was a lord who was most used to being up and about in the daylight hours. Indeed, it had been the case that in Imladris, on the occasions when he had awoken to Glorfindel watching him, it was usually to find, on turning towards his lover, Glorfindel kissing him good morning and wishing him farewell for the day.

But today he was unsure that he wanted to turn towards Glorfindel. After last night, Glorfindel would undoubtedly expect answers from him regarding where he had been over the past two days, what had happened, and how he had come to be returned to his cursed condition. He gazed across the bedroom to the open windows and the curtains billowing around them, swaying in the warm air. Beyond them, the canopies of the yellow blossomed lindens in the garden were gleaming brightly under the late morning sun. Lindir wondered if Glorfindel had left him at some point in his slumber to attend to breakfast or if he had stayed with him ever since last night.

“Should I ask Elrond to take a look at you?” Glorfindel suddenly asked in a soft voice, breaking the silence. Perhaps he had sensed Lindir’s hesitance.

“Nay.” The very suggestion of being “looked at” again made him feel slightly nauseous. When images of Sauron’s recent emotionless examination of him came to his mind’s eye, he closed his eyes tightly and swallowed.

“So,” Glorfindel said, “would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Nay.”

“I see.” Glorfindel fell quiet.

Lindir sighed and turned his head further towards his pillow. He felt warm and safe in the bed, between the sheets, curled into a fetal position, Glorfindel behind him; protecting him, albeit worried and confused. But that was not fair to Glorfindel, was it? He sighed again.

“I have agreed to appear as a witness at Sauron’s trial,” he said finally.

Glorfindel did not react with the surprise or with the questions that Lindir had anticipated and feared. Instead, he said softly, once again. “I see.”

So did the elf already know about the trial? Did he know that he, Lindir, had been asked to participate in it? Lindir turned onto his back and looked up questioningly at the elf lying on his side behind him, propped up with his elbow shoved in a pillow. Glorfindel gazed back, his brow knitted slightly in what seemed to be concern and puzzlement, but there was no sign of the strong bewilderment that Lindir had expected of him. “You already knew of the trial?”

“Ingwë told me about it when I saw him,” Glorfindel said. “I did not expect you to agree to help the court, considering your reluctance to speak to anyone about your experiences of thralldom.” He smiled slightly, tightly. “But I am glad for you, provided you do not feel as if you have been forced to come to such a decision.” Pointedly, his gaze slid to where the blanket covered Lindir’s middle and Lindir looked away.

There was another long silence and then Glorfindel spoke again. “Is your condition fully restored, then?”

“Aye.” Lindir glanced hesitantly at him, then away again.

“I see. May I learn why?”

When Lindir did not respond, Glorfindel leaned down and pressed their lips together in a gentle, affectionate kiss. When he leaned back, he said softly. “I will not ask you to tell me what is troubling you or why your condition is restored,” he said, “but please remember that I love you… _we_ love you. And now I am going to take a bath. You are welcome to join me.” Then he patted Lindir’s flank and turned away to climb out the other side of the bed and head to the bedroom door, grabbing a bath robe on his way.

“Glorfindel,” Lindir said hurriedly, as his spouse was about to exit the door.

“Aye?” Glorfindel stopped attentively, bathrobe slung over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Glorfindel did not turn around, but Lindir saw him nod slightly before he left the room. Comforted, he smiled.

~*~

Glorfindel took a few steps down the corridor towards the baths and then, as his frustration threatened to overwhelm him and turn to tears, he stopped to turn towards one of the windows, sticking his elbow up against the frame, his fists balled, his breathing loud and harsh in his ears, his smile transformed to a grimace.

He wondered if Lindir had any clue of how frustrated he was feeling right now -- how _angry_... how angry with himself and everyone in this hateful city. How angry with Sauron for starting all of this and enslaving Lindir at the first.

_Lindir himself... I could have struck him just now for showing me such a complacent face,_ he inwardly fumed. That Lindir did not think of him enough to tell him what had happened and trust in him was perhaps the blow that had hurt the most. His life in Aman revolved around his spouse -- everything he did was with Lindir, his better half, kept in the forefront of his considerations. He had always imagined that when something went dreadfully wrong for him, that he would instantly tell Lindir because his business was Lindir's business and vice versa.

He sniffed viciously, tears already seeping down his cheeks. A few thousand years ago and he would have never let such an issue fester and make him feel so isolated, even for a few minutes -- he would have never had the patience -- he would have demanded answers of Lindir outright! But that had never worked for either of them. It had driven Lindir further into his shroud of silence and given Lindir's then perpetual and self-employed bodyguard, Laiglas, even more reasons to despise him. At those times, before Laiglas had come to recognise their mutual love, it had been his frustration and anger towards Lindir's distrust that was the obstacle to overcome. But now he wondered if learning patience had solved anything. Relations had been so smooth and cheerful between him and Lindir for so many centuries now. Not always perfect; they had had their disagreements, but nothing so ominous as the current situation.

_Perhaps some would say that it was high time that such strangeness came between us. Those who disapprove heartily of our relationship would certainly attempt to explain it away with the unnaturalness of such a couple._ He sniffed again. _But then again, have we ever faced such an obstacle as serious as this one?_ Indeed, he now fancied that he had never ever felt such a sense of mystery and helplessness about their relationship as he did now. It was like gazing at the surface of an enormous lake and wondering what ills lay beneath such a smooth and beautiful sight.

He shifted his arm to wipe his face dry with his sleeve. As he did so, he happened to look out of the window. He stiffened; his eyes narrowed. His grandfather was out there, standing in the shelter of a tall linden. But it was not Ingwë's presence that had caught his attention so much as the presence of the ones sitting on the stone seat beneath the linden and talking to Ingwë: his mother and his grandmother, the matriarch of the House of Ingwë.

_”Do not come near us... you filthy thing.”_

He wondered about what they were talking so quietly, with faces tense and suspicious. Perhaps about him and Lindir? Perhaps about their children? Perhaps about the trial of Sauron and the former thralls currently in the kingdom? Or something else?

Suddenly, as if she had sensed his gaze, his mother turned her head and looked at him. She noticeably stiffened and for a few moments, she stared at him in visible shock -- eyes wide in her pale face -- and then the expression faded and closed off to his scrutiny and she looked away, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

The King and the Queen, on noticing the landed princess's body language, now looked towards him. Unlike her, neither of them looked at all surprised, but they more openly echoed her disapproving expression. That he, Glorfindel, was not welcome here was plainly visible in their faces and Glorfindel felt it keenly. He exhaled in a low hiss. His tears were already dry. He had learnt no patience for them. New resentment waxing within him, he shot the three of them a disgusted look and turned to continue to make his way to the baths.

~*~

Meanwhile, Lindir had crawled from Glorfindel's bed, donned a dressing robe, and made his way to the dressing table to check and amend his appearance of any obvious signs of the previous night's events. As he carefully threaded out his tangles with a brush, he suddenly wondered how many servants had overheard them last night and as he did so, felt his fingers slip on the hair brush in his hand and the implement fall from his grasp.

"AI!" He scrambled for it and caught it, fumbling slightly with it before settling for hugging the brush to his chest for long enough to settle his spirits and get a grip on it. On looking back at his reflection, his attention shifted to the bed also pictured therein and it’s rumpled sheets.

_Perhaps... perhaps it would not be a good thing to follow him to the baths and to bathe with him. It will give the House of Ingwë even more reason to feel uncomfortable in our presence and I am sure that we have not been the best of guests,_ he thought. He was pretty certain that Glorfindel, though perhaps being a little disappointed at his declination of the invitation to bathe with him, would understand him in this without requiring an explanation and agree with him. _I should bathe separately; in a different room._ He ran a hand absently through his hair, the smooth, thin tresses dry against his fingers. Then, after a last look at his reflection, he rose and left the room to make his way to the baths.

He was making his way through the passageway outside the doors to the baths, searching for a bath that he thought unlikely to be chosen by Glorfindel, when he heard footsteps behind him... a recognisable gait. Laiglas. He turned around, an automated smile on his face, and at the sight of the other, with black hair unfettered and hanging around his pale, gaunt face, froze in shock. _Valar! Laiglas is Sauron’s child! Undeniably!_ was his immediate and horrified thought.

"Lindir?" Laiglas' smile faded; turned to a frown. And then, when Lindir did not respond, he spoke again, stepping forward this time.

"Lindir!"

Lindir blinked; turned wide eyes to meet his eldest's worried ones. At the sight of that sharp blackness, felt a coil of deep emotion, of horror, of awe, of regret, of desire that should not be there, that was never there when he had met with Sauron yesterday, clench within his stomach. "Laiglas," he exhaled shakily, trying to force a smile that would not come and then, unable to find the strength to fight it, looked away from that face -- that face that so reminded him of Sauron. How could he have given up the opportunity to demand the truth from the Maia? How could he have not acknowledged his strong emotions yesterday when he had been before the real face?

"You went pale," Laiglas continued, not moving any closer to him, as if he had sensed Lindir's confusion. "What is wrong?"

Lindir did not respond, instead turning his mind to questioning his reaction to what he had seen in Laiglas' face and of what his son was, as far as he knew, unaware. Were his strong emotions a result of the fact that there was so much more life and acknowledgement of him in Laiglas's eyes than in Sauron's? So much more affection for him? Or rather, that there was any affection at all? But then again, if Laiglas _was_ Sauron's child then surely that meant that Sauron had some affection for him that extended beyond a master’s interest in a research specimen? At the thought, Lindir felt his chin tremble and he raised his hands to his face to hide his tears.

"Lindir," Laiglas hurriedly stepped up to him and wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of his head. "Come, let us go somewhere private." And without waiting for a response, Laiglas turned him towards one of the doors at the end of the passageway and led him towards it, a confidence of his whereabouts in his step that signalled that he had, in Lindir's absence and time asleep, become well acquainted with this part of the palace.

The door led into a small room with a bath, far smaller than any of the baths that Lindir had seen so far. Indeed, it looked to be a bathroom for only two members at most and, to Lindir's relief, it was unoccupied; there was no sign of Glorfindel.

Laiglas led him to the corner in which was kept the shower and set him down on the stool there before releasing him and helping him to undress. When, however, his son looked about to assist him in the task of washing him, Lindir finally roused himself from his tears to take the shower nozzle from him and bid Laiglas go shower himself. "I assume you will be joining me?" he asked.

"Aye, but there is only one nozzle in this room," Laiglas replied, standing up and unfastening the ties at the front of his tunic. "I will wait." It was then that Lindir noticed that his son was dressed in tunic and breeches and on the whole, looked as if he had been up for some time and active around the house or in the city.

"You look as if you have been active this morning; did you go out?" Lindir asked, watching his son shrugging off the tunic and starting on the undershirt beneath; both items and the breeches were assumedly borrowed from the House of Ingwë, for Lindir did not recall them. Then again, Laiglas had not been living with them in Tirion recently so perhaps the elf had picked them up on his travels around Alqualonde.

In response to his question, Laiglas shook his head. "Nay, save for a few strolls in the gardens of these halls and on that matter, I am amazed that the lindens have not run out of petals to shower on us. But I heard that this place is in a perpetual Spring to please the visiting servants of Irmo, which I suppose would explain it." He cast aside his shirt, then turned away to walk over to the door and slide the bolt home.

"A-aye." Lindir wondered if Laiglas intended to complete his answer to his question. His disappointment was eased, however, when Laiglas turned around, saw his expression, and, with his usual knack for reading Lindir's thoughts best of the family members -- including Glorfindel -- smiled. "I also visited the library where I dabbled in some map reading and attempted to educate myself on the nature of Valar-led courts and trials. I also asked a great deal of questions of scholars of all ranks and did my very best to make them struggle and sweat to answer them." His smile widened slightly -- to a smirk. "I suspect that most of them were struggling to answer only because though they wished to answer my questions, rules... or perhaps requests made by their superiors have made answering such questions to one such as I forbidden."

Lindir did not know how to answer the second bit so he left it. "Studying maps?"

"For the means to access the courtroom as a hopeful audience member," Laiglas replied, approaching him to switch on the nozzle, snickering when Lindir started at the cold water that came rushing out. "Revolve the head to find your desired temperature," he said, and stepped back to take their clothes to a safer distance from the spray before removing the rest of his clothes.

"Have you asked Ingwë?" Lindir asked, not looking at Laiglas, but at the nozzle with which he was now fumbling to find a comfortable temperature. "He is the one to grant permission -- or any of the other Kings of the Elven Kindreds."

"I did so early this morning; he has yet to give me a response. I rather think, however, that he will refuse my request. Although I think he understands some of our plight and the reasons behind our disrespectful behaviour these past few days, he is obliged politically and socially, the latter judging from the poisonous expressions his wife gave me, to be as unhelpful to us as possible."

"The Queen?" Lindir looked up in the middle of rinsing his hair.

"Aye, she is quite the thorny matron."

"Oh?" Lindir returned his attention to washing himself. "I wonder why."

There was a pause and then Laiglas exhaled heavily. "I should have never mentioned her disagreeable nature to you."

"Eh? Why not?" Lindir looked up again to see Laiglas running a hand through his hair, a weary and amused expression on his face. He wondered if Glorfindel or if Glingal or Gloredhel even knew that Laiglas could wear such a comical expression. _Even if he is Sauron's son, he is nothing like his father at all._

"Because you will undoubtedly worry about the mystery of the Queen's thorniness and pay the petty issue of her even more attention than you should pay to your own troubles."

"Ah." Lindir smiled weakly. _I think that it is impossible for me to view any issues as more important than my own troubles currently._

Perhaps Laiglas had read his thoughts again, because his son's expression softened and when they exchanged places and Laiglas took the shower while Lindir headed towards the bath, Laiglas paused to embrace him again. As Lindir descended into the bath, he supposed that Laiglas' embrace was also telling him that he was not alone and that in addition to his eldest, he had others -- his other children -- who also loved him and would support him unconditionally, in spite of what unmasking the nature and depth of his relationship with Sauron would do to his relationship with Glorfindel.

Even if Glorfindel eventually rejected him... and Glingal and Gloredhel as well, he would still have three others behind him, two of them certain -- his sons, Laiglas and Lindo. Both of them had seen thralldom firsthand and though Lindir had no certain idea of how much either of them remembered he was almost certain that Laiglas, at least, remembered and knew the chief of his secrets. Only “almost”, though, for Lindir had rarely discussed such a subject with Laiglas and vice versa since the moment that they had stepped out of that place. But though they had never discussed it, Lindir knew, from Laiglas’ ability to understand him best at times when he was thinking of such depressed times without needing to ask him the whys, that his son remembered much, even if he spoke little of it.

_Laiglas is a smart elf, to have come to terms with all of that without my help._ he supposed. _Children will grow up even without their parents._ And he wondered once again, more anxiously this time as he watched Laiglas descend into the bath to sit down beside him, if Laiglas had ever wondered at the possibility of his father being Sauron.

~*~

Glorfindel was not enjoying his bath. Alone in the room, surrounded by steam, he had over the course of the past hour come to the realisation that Lindir had decided not to join him. This knowledge, coupled with his memories of the disdainful looks sent him by his relatives and his recent failure to rescue Lindir when his spouse had been kidnapped not two days ago, was making what was supposed to be a relaxing activity feel like he was boiling away in the waters.

And then the door had suddenly opened and Ingwë had entered. Glorfindel had had to wonder privately if his diminutive grandfather was mad; surely he knew that with one wrong move, he would have his head bitten right off by his furious grandson? Then again, small people were often the loudest and most determined. Even Lindir was loud and merry when he was not struggling against having the trapdoors over a cellar of a hideous past ripped open from beneath him.

"Glorfindel."

"Aye?" Glorfindel bit it out, making his displeasure at the sight of Ingwë very clear and setting the tone for what he would rather have as an openly tense conversation than a smooth one with an undercurrent of bitterness. "What do you want?"

"I supposed that Lindir might not have told you what had happened to him up on the mountain," Ingwë said. When Glorfindel stiffened, he stepped further into the room and locked the door behind him. "Ah, I thought as much."

"And you are here to enlighten me, is that it?"

"And to also make a request of you and Lindir," Ingwë said. He proceeded without Glorfindel's consent. "The request is that we would appreciate it if you and Lindir could keep your relationship as understated as is possible while you are guests in my halls."

"In other words, you resent what we did last night?" Glorfindel scowled, vaguely wondering whether it was Ingwë or the Queen or some other individual who was complaining the loudest about what they had done last night. But then, as he thought longer on it, he supposed that he did not much care who was to blame.

There was an awkward pause. Then Ingwë exhaled heavily. "Aye, child. That is our feeling on the matter."

Glorfindel just snorted, both resentful and slightly appreciative of Ingwë’s frankness. "And what about your enlightening news?" he asked sourly. "I, as you know, already know that Lindir's condition has been restored. But I have yet to learn why."

Ingwë drew one of the shower stools to the side of the bath, a few feet from Glorfindel, and sat down on it. "In short," he began, "it was to force Lindir to participate in the trial -- with the promise of restoring the bodies of his and his children to their rightful sex on his successful completion of the request."

Chapter 09

The few months that passed between their arrival at the halls and Lindir's disappearance to attend to the trial were short, but for the most part, harmonious and sweet. After hearing Ingwe's words that morning in the bath and learning, in addition to the forcefulness with which the Valar had forced Lindir's decision, that Lindir had scant time with him left before the Valar would take apart his memories, had provoked Glorfindel to resolve never to show or misdirect his anger towards Lindir and at all times, to ensure that he made Lindir's remaining time with him as enjoyable and restful as possible.

Lindir, in turn, sensing his spouse's avoidance of the topical subject for his sake, thankfully took advantage of this silence on Glorfindel's part and, aside from allowing Glorfindel to milk him, let the matter drift.

Both of them turned their attention to both enjoying one another's company as much as possible and spending time with those of their children that were present with them. In particular, Glingal proved a great distraction for the elf had, through some miraculous feat that the rest of them never managed to work out, managed to find a sweetheart out of one of his cousins, twice removed. In addition to which had come the greater feat, which was that he had managed to befriend all of her family as well.

"How they can so easily accept Glingal, the son of one who is disowned and a cursed thrall, and not at least accept the disowned father, is beyond me," Glorfindel muttered in Lindir's ear on the night after Glingal had nervously brought the girl over to the courtyard near Glorfindel's rooms to introduce her to them.

"The younger generation is more open minded than the older -- this bodes well. Perhaps if they decide to bond, the older generation will be forced to forgive and forget their grievances," Lindir replied with a smile, wrapping his robes more closely around him -- a slight chill was in the air, a faint memory of Winter before Spring and a reminder of the season that currently held sway over the valley's hinterlands. "Linden, also, seems to have found some new friends out of her cousins." He shifted slightly on the stone seat that they shared, his smile widening when he felt Glorfindel's arm reposition itself around his shoulders.

"And Laiglas?" Glorfindel was smirking now, already knowing the answer and anticipating Lindir's annoyed look and response at the very insinuation that Laiglas might want to have anything to do with his cousins. He chuckled when Lindir nudged him sharply.

"He keeps to himself," Lindir said quietly. "If he enjoys it, I think that is well for him."

"Yes, yes. Social reclusiveness is indeed enjoyable for some elves." Glorfindel laughed again when Lindir nudged him again.

Of late, Laiglas had not been spending much time with any of them, not even Lindir, though when he did call, he always greeted Lindir first of all of them. Sometimes, Linden disappeared with him and through conversations with Ecthelion, Elrond, and various other former colleagues and acquaintances in the realm, Glorfindel quickly learnt that Laiglas was spending inordinately large amounts of time in the library and on the slopes of Taniquetil. At first, he had decided not to trouble Lindir to give him an explanation, though he was certain that Lindir probably knew best of what was going on in Laiglas's mind. And then, when he had seen Laiglas in the library and pouring over maps of Taniquetil, realised then that Lindir's eldest was doing the task from which the rest of them were trying their very hardest to distract themselves. That Laiglas, the son, and not he, Glorfindel, the spouse, was the one ahead in the struggle to find out all the possible and certain details related to Lindir's participation in the trial was an extremely sobering thought.

"You are wearing a very droll face," Elrond had remarked to him a few minutes afterwards, when Glorfindel had moved to sit down beside him and the piles of papers that the half-elf appeared to be sorting through, assumedly in preparing for the trial. "You do not intend to mope and melt all over these papers, I hope? I imagine you, unlike most characters, would be quite the task to mop up."

Glorfindel, his chin on his hand, turned his head towards him and shot him a sour look. The he turned his head to regard the piles of papers. "Are you still working on these notes?"

"Ah, no. My lady found them in the cellar and sent them after me; they arrived this morning," Elrond said, reaching forward to rummage through the pile. He withdrew a small wooden box. "She also sent me these... and as she is of the kind of female who likes to complain about my weight one minute, then try to dose me up with caramels the next, I am now the kind of male who likes to pass around her edible gifts rather than to glut myself on them." He slid open the lid and waited until Glorfindel had obligingly taken two caramels, then slid the lid home.

"Thank you," Glorfindel popped one of the squares into his mouth and nodded his approval of the morsel with a smile.

"Welcome -- I have never understood the mentality of being appreciative for gifts that cause one heart disease," Elrond replied, putting down the box and recovering it with papers. "And eat those discreetly -- we are not supposed to eat in here. Those senior librarians are even more snarky about library rules than Erestor."

Glorfindel snorted and popped the other morsel into his mouth. Privately, he reckoned that Elrond had probably never seen Erestor at his snarkiest worst -- Elrond had always, after all, been Erestor's superior since the pair had met each other in Imladris. He watched Elrond work for a little bit, then as he grew bored, looked back at Laiglas who was now copying down notes feverishly, and quietly sighed. Even if he did decide to devote himself to uncovering the details of Lindir's trial, not only would he probably be walking in footsteps already made by Laiglas, but he would be sacrificing this opportunity to spend as much time with Lindir.

And speaking of Lindir...

He rose and smiled politely at Elrond when the half-elf looked up.

"Oh, are you leaving already?"

"Aye. Oh, may I ask when you are going to appear before the trial?"

Elrond smiled obligingly. "Any time now; I am waiting on their call."

Glorfindel's smile thinned. "Ah, so if you are spirited away tomorrow, I need only pray to the Valar."

Elrond blinked. Then, on reading Glorfindel's misdirected bitterness, shrugged and smiled. "I suppose so. Take care, Glorfindel."

"Aye. And you." And Glorfindel turned away and left the room in search of Lindir and an activity with which to amuse and occupy his spouse. Perhaps he should take him on a tour of the kingdom. As he passed by Ecthelion in the hallway, it suddenly occurred to him that Lindir was not well acquainted with his former Gondolin colleague and that Lindir and the family, in spite of living in Ecthelion's house in Tirion, had only dined with the elf once. So he went over and promptly invited the elf to dine with them. Ecthelion had cheerfully accepted and when the date of the dinner had arrived, all of them were surprised and pleased when Glingal arrived in the allotted courtyard with his sweetheart on his arm and Linden, with said sweetheart's brother, another cousin, with hers on his. "There is nothing between him and I," Linden had said later to them, when she had caught Glorfindel and Lindir discussing the suitability of the match between the brother and her and her failure to tell them until now, "And that is why I said nothing to you. He simply wished to keep an eye on her, as is acceptable and perfectly normal for an older brother towards his younger and only sister."

"Indeed," Glorfindel had remarked. "And so, pray tell me, how is it that you both came to meet one another and strike up your so-called innocent relationship?"

Linden tilted her head, her hands on her hips, and shot him a narrow look, a smile on her lips. "But of course, I was the one Glingal asked to accompany him to the family's house. We met there."

"He asked you to accompany him to her house?"

"But of course. Who else could he have asked?" Linden asked. "Do you think he would have asked Laiglas or his parents to show up on their doorstep with him? One would have scared the family away and the others would have rendered him unable to ascend their front steps out of embarrassment." She snickered and turned away to return to the cousin's side.

Glorfindel and Lindir watched her interact with the cousin for a few moments. Then Lindir stirred and said, blandly, "There is definitely something between them."

"I agree," Glorfindel said. "He is smiling too much."

"And she keeps on patting his arm," Lindir said. He looked over to where Ecthelion was talking with Glingal and their son's sweetheart. "Why did you request that we not ask after Ecthelion's reasons for being in the kingdom?"

"He is here to support his brother who is a former thrall," Glorfindel said shortly. "And speaking of support, where is Laiglas? I have not seen him these past few days." He looked at Lindir and was surprised to observe his spouse's lips purse and an anxious expression enter the smaller elf's fair face.

"I have not seen him lately either," Lindir said. "He usually visits me in the morning, but yesterday and today he failed to do so." He exhaled softly, concern colouring the quiet breath.

Glorfindel's brow knit. He would have proposed, judging from Lindir's expression, that they go and search for Laiglas immediately, but the presence of Ecthelion and their potential future daughter-in-law and son-in-law made excusing themselves rather awkward. So instead he proposed, "Should we search for him after the meal?"

"Aye. Please."

The "please" caught Glorfindel's attention. "Do you sense that something is wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Oh, no, I sense nothing of the kind, but his absence without informing me still worries me," Lindir said.

In truth, Lindir was very worried. It was indeed extremely unlike Laiglas to disappear for more than a day without telling him. Ever since Laiglas had been born, the elf had shown an unusually strong attachment to him and protectiveness of him. At first, Lindir had thought that it was simply the way of a parent-child relationship, but then he had had Lindo... and then Linden... and then Gloredhel and Glingal. None of these other children had shown Laiglas' arguably obsessive interest in him. And especially now, when there was no one else in this kingdom who understood him save perhaps the Valar and Maiar, Laiglas' presence was a significant support and comfort to him.

_If Sauron is indeed his father, that would explain his talent for obsessiveness,_ he thought, watching Linden patting her cousin's arm yet again. He felt Glorfindel's arm slide around his shoulders and he gratefully leaned into the slight embrace. "I want to return to the table," he said, and looked pointedly at the table that had been temporarily set up in the middle of the courtyard for the purpose of their meal.

Glorfindel followed his gaze and looked at the remnants of food that still strewed the table top. "Still hungry? There looks to be some cake left."

"Not hungry; just tired." Lindir said, inwardly wondering whether or not Glorfindel would, after escorting him to the table, help himself to the remains of the cake. To his amusement, his suspicions were proved correct.

Less to his amusement was the fact that they did not manage to locate Laiglas by the end of the day. As he lay awake in his own bed that night -- he had insisted to Glorfindel that they try to stick to Ingwe's request that they keep their relationship low key -- he wondered if Laiglas had also been asked to participate in the trial as a witness. Just like him.

_Or not like me,_ he supposed. _Sauron has enough of a witness in me._ He rolled over, wrapping his arm around one of his pillows and pulling it down to hug it tightly to his chest. _I wonder if Laiglas found something while he was looking up all those books._

It was then that his thoughts returned, suddenly, to Silmo and the Maia's parting words to him.

“I am a servant of Irmo, the Master of Dreams,” the Maia had said. “Speak to me in your dreams and I will attend to you.”

On the edge of sleep, Lindir stretched out his consciousness towards thoughts of Silmo and made a plea for help and a request for company in his isolation. And then he sat up, still hugging his pillow, and waited, staring into the shadowed and lonely gloom of his bedroom, wondering how Silmo might appear to him.

And waited. And waited.

And then, tired of waiting and the tension, he shifted himself back across the bed so that his back was leaning against the headboard and relaxed, resigned to a night alone. He would search harder for Laiglas tomorrow.

"Your family showed more concern when you disappeared than any of you are currently showing for Laiglas," a familiar voice then said, breaking through the quiet. Lindir's eyes refocused and the elf stared at the presence who was sitting just within his closed bedroom windows on the low soft cushions, robed in the deep green of cypress, his face on the profile and half-turned towards the window. Silmo looked older this time, or maybe it was that he was simply not hiding his maturity -- having more reason to be serious on this occasion than friendly and fun. His long brown hair was tied back in a long plait that he had tucked over the front of his shoulder and which trailed down to the polished floorboards. For some reason, Lindir had the feeling that Silmo was not happy to be summoned.

"Is he to become another witness?" Lindir asked then.

"No. He refused," Silmo replied shortly, sounding distracted.

"Ah." Lindir flustered for a bit, supposing that Silmo was busy elsewhere and wondering fretfully what he might do to speed up this discussion as soon as possible so as to let Silmo go sooner. "So you have met him, then?"

"Aye. But it is not as you think -- he came to us, not us to him." Silmo blinked slowly and then turned his head even further away to look back out of the window. "As to where he is now... he obliged me to let him ascend to the summit of Taniquetil." He exhaled quietly, resignation and also what might have been irritation or even resentment colouring his voice.

"Obliged?"

Silmo snorted and now Lindir realised that it was indeed resentment in the Maia's voice. Resentment _and_ anger. "I would have appreciated it," Silmo said coldly, turning his head back to its original position to look back at him sidelong, his eyes narrowed and black in the dim light, "if you had warned me that your son was half-Maia."

Lindir swallowed. He had not anticipated that this matter would be confirmed in such a way. "He... he is?"

"How could you have not known?" Silmo burst out furiously, turning towards him, hands outspread. It was then that Lindir saw that there was a deep cut on the side of Silmo's face that the Maia had kept hidden from him through the tilt of his head. "How could you have not noticed how different he is from a normal elf! He knows his powers all too well to be ignorant of them!"

There was an awkward pause. Lindir had lowered his head and was looking at his hands.

"Lindir, you _did_ know, did you not?"

"I did not."

There was another awkward pause. And then Silmo gave an aggravated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, pulling loose some of the neatly braided tresses. "I suppose it is because you are surrounded by a family that cannot be considered normal. Not even your spouse is seen as a normal elf from what I have gathered from elvish popular opinion." He shook his head and lowered his head to place it in his hands. "I am so embarrassed."

"What is Laiglas doing on the summit?" Lindir pressed, more interested in Laiglas's doings than striking up a conversation about Silmo's reasons for being embarrassed, though inwardly he supposed that even if the two subjects were related, it would be wise to show more interest in the Maia's personal life.

"I do not know."

Eh? The Maia did not know? "What do you mean?" Lindir asked confusedly. Surely Laiglas had not dared to, much less been able to intimidate and mislead one such as Silmo?

"That is why I am so embarrassed!" Silmo burst out, looking back up, spreading his hands again, gesticulating emphatically. "I was so completely distracted by him that by the time I realised his real purpose for speaking to me, he already held the keys to the summit door in his hand and was waving farewell to me."

"And so he is at the summit at the moment? What about the cut on your face?"

"Oh, that was when he came back down," Silmo said bitterly. "I tried to arrest him and to ask what he had done up there. That arrogant, emotionless, rude, spawn of Sauron, horrible creature has no concept of etiquette! I asked him to come quietly and he smashed my own lamp into my face." His fists balled and he punched one of them into the cushion of the windowseat, his face screwed up with the force of his emotion.

_Valar, he hates Laiglas. He really hates Laiglas!_ Lindir thought, staring at him in horror and dread at what this turn of events might do to his own relationship with Silmo. How could things proceed smoothly in terms of the trial if Silmo and Laiglas were at each other's throats. He wondered, confusedly, at what had driven Laiglas to such violence. _Or maybe, maybe, oh, please let it be an accident on Laiglas's part._ "I... I sincerely apologise for my son's actions," he said, slipping from the bed and bowing deeply to Silmo. "I do not know why he did so, but I understand that it was wrong of him. Please excuse him."

"I cannot excuse him," Silmo said resentfully. "I demand an apology from him and I intend to get it. But as for you, I hold no grudge towards you even though I understand that Laiglas's actions were all done with you at the forefront of his thoughts. Laiglas is responsible for his own actions. Please arise, Lindir."

Lindir straightened, swallowing, and moved forward to peer at the cut on Silmo's face. "May I call a servant to bandage it?"

"No need," Silmo said. "I only kept it to show to you." And before Lindir's eyes, the cut started to close over and heal. Within moments, the skin had smoothed over and the Maia's face was whole again. Silmo pulled his hair out of its plait and his tresses tumbled loose over his shoulders, thick and rich and dark in the shadows.

"Please excuse me for pressing the subject of my son again, but may I ask where Laiglas is now?"

"On his way back here, I expect," Silmo said shortly. "You summoned me a few minutes after he left. Happily, he is only half-Maia and not full-blooded and unable to ride the wind or on the dreams of others." He grinned thinly and for politeness sake, Lindir smiled weakly, though inwardly he was starting to wonder why Silmo was confiding in him and not in one of the Maia's colleagues. Surely choosing to confide a crime in the mother of the culprit was not normal?

_Of course, no one of us is normal,_ he added to himself.

There was a pause before Silmo added, in a more subdued and softer tone. "Unless he has plans to go elsewhere, Laiglas should arrive here before dawn. May I change the subject?"

"Please."

"When are you going to tell Glorfindel the truth about your relationship with Sauron?"

At Lindir's subsequent silence, Silmo added, " _Are_ you going to tell him?" And then, when Lindir still did not respond, he said, "I see."

"I would like to enjoy these last few months with him," Lindir said quietly. "I think telling him will add unnecessary stress -- stress that I do not wish us to face right now and stress that we shall have to undoubtedly deal with soon, anyway. What will be, will be. But do not let it come now."

"And so you would rather he find out his spouse's intimate secrets along with the public than from his spouse in person?" Silmo asked. "Have you thought about this seriously? Did you consider his feelings when you came to your decision?" When Lindir looked away, he frowned. "Lindir! You are a couple! What right do you have to make decisions independently of him?"

"But if I did that..." And here Lindir's voice broke as he started to cry. "If I did that, then I would have to consider Sauron's feelings as well."

It was, as Silmo had said, almost dawn when Laiglas returned. Lindir had fallen asleep not long after Silmo had left his side in the small hours, in spite of his doubts that he would and could do so, and had woken to find Laiglas sitting on the side of the bed, watching him, his hair damp from a recent bath.

"Silmo visited and told me about your disagreement," Lindir said, after he had greeted his son. He had hoped for a peaceful explanation, but instead Laiglas's eyes narrowed and the elf shot him a look that quite plainly told him to not push the subject with him. Unused to being the receipient of such a look, Lindir pressed on anyway. "He expects an apology from you."

Laiglas just reached out and ruffled his hair. "Does he blame you?"

"Eh? No, he said it was not my fault. Laiglas, ai, my hair is saturated enough with tangles."

"Then, if you are not involved, please do not consider our disagreements your concern and do not get involved," Laiglas replied, removing his hand and kissing his cheek. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"Before he left, he told me that my part in the trial would start at the end of this week," Lindir said, thinking back to Silmo's parting comment that his time with Glorfindel was already up; there were precious moments left for them.

For a few moments, he considered raising the subject of Laiglas's sire with his son, but then decided to let the matter drop. What would bringing up the issue at this late date do for either of them? _Indeed, Laiglas probably has assumed, all this time, that I knew his parentage._

Laiglas nodded slightly. "I see."

"What were you doing up on the summit?"

"Was I on the summit?"

"Silmo said..." Lindir fell quiet when Laiglas, a cold smile on his lips, touched his lips with his index finger. "Laiglas?"

"I am tired and from the look of your eyes, you are both tired and stressed," Laiglas said softly, gently. "Do not let these petty matters trouble you." And with that, he rose and left the room.

Chapter 10

Three days later, Silmo came to collect him. At the time of the Maia's arrival, all of the members of the family save for Glingal had been lunching on the greensward behind the baths, in the dappled shade of another linden. Even Laiglas had joined them, though after he had apparently exhausted his appetite, the tall elf had moved away to take a walk along the edge of a stream that ran through the lawn. Lindir wondered, as he watched his son slowly pacing along the mossy bank, his hands threaded together behind his back, if the stream contained any water from the baths or if it were fresh water come from the mountain.

And then Glorfindel had stirred beside him and reached out to thread his fingers through the last bunch of grapes before lifting them and holding them out before Lindir's face in silent invitation. Lindir shook his head. "Nay, thank you, I am full," he said, and he smiled when Glorfindel smiled obligingly and started picking the grapes off their stalks to feed himself with them. Lindir noticed that the sleeve of Glorfindel's white robe was stained green with grass. Linden looked back at the picnic spread and then, when he noticed that Linden, who was sitting across from them with a goblet of wine in her hand, was looking at him, tilting his head inquiringly. "Linden?"

"I was just thinking," Linden said, "that it is almost the end of the week." She turned her head to look at Laiglas and Lindir, on following her gaze, noticed that Laiglas had jumped across the stream and was walking towards a small grove of lindens at the other side. He was wearing black today and as Lindir watched him stalking away, crushing scattered linden petals beneath his shoes, long black braids jostling across his back with his movements, he smiled. _He really does look like Sauron._

"You said that Silmo only told you that he would collect you at the end of the week, but do you have any idea at what time he is most likely to collect you?" Linden pressed.

"Nay." Lindir looked at Glorfindel, who paused in eating to swallow his mouthful and shoot him a small smile -- they had discussed this earlier over breakfast when neither Linden nor Laiglas had been with them. Linden nodded, looking slightly disgruntled at the answer, and returned her attention to her drink. Lindir leaned closer to Glorfindel and lay his head on the older's shoulder, smiling when Glorfindel put his arm around him.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Linden had disappeared from the eating area and he was lying on his back beneath the linden with his lover lying curled up beside him, one of the other's hands on his chest, which was bare -- the front buttons of his shirt had been undone. Above him, he could see the high, blue sky shining bright and fearlessly down at him through the quivering leaves of the canopy, rays of light gleaming as they danced off of the soft golden-yellow petals.

Perhaps he was still dreaming, for it suddenly seemed to him that Glorfindel's clothes, once white, were now black. Was it Laiglas beside him, then? But no, it could not be Laiglas for though it was not unknown for Laiglas to lie so close to him, it was certainly unlike Laiglas to undo his shirt and slip his hand onto his bare skin. He was about to turn over when he suddenly felt the other shift beside him, felt the lover roll over towards him to kiss his face. He looked up, caught sight of the other's face, and froze.

Sauron... or the illusion... or whatever it was, did not seem to notice his reaction. Or perhaps it was because by the time Lindir had registered the other's face, Sauron had already bent his head to begin trailing kisses down his neck. The hand on his chest ran down, undoing the rest of his shirt fastenings with ease.

"Oi," he breathed shakily. "What are you doing?" The other's caresses were certainly not like Sauron's, but neither were they very much like Glorfindel's either... instead, they reminded him of a different character -- of when Sauron had been Annatar and had shown him the kind of love that had driven him to what might be called insanity -- that madness that had provoked him sever his own connections with elven society to pursue the object that had seduced him. As the other's lips fastened around his neck, he stared wildly up at the shivering canopy, at the showering petals that were floating down upon them.

And then he turned his head.

And as he did so, as his gaze settled on the stream and to where, on the side closest to them, Silmo stood watching him, no expression on his face, he saw the black hair atop of him turn to gold and felt the gaunt hands on his skin turn warm and callused. The Maia's gaze seemed to be telling him something -- both that Silmo was disappointed in his inability to tell Glorfindel the truth and also, more gravely, that his time and opportunity to tell Glorfindel was now up.

Glorfindel shifted over him. "What did you say?" he whispered, kissing his lips.

Lindir just nodded towards Silmo. "Look." And Glorfindel looked, and on seeing Silmo, the elf-lord stiffened. "That is Lord Silmo," Lindir added, wriggling out from under Glorfindel so that he might sit up and set about straightening his clothes. Glorfindel quickly recovered from his surprise and straightened also to move to help him.

"I see now what you mean when you said he looked young," Glorfindel commented as he helped Lindir to his feet and escorted him down towards the stream and where Silmo stood waiting and where, on the other side of the stream, Laiglas was stalking up with a sour look on his face. Lindir sneaked a sidelong look at his spouse as they went and noticed that although Glorfindel was smiling at Silmo, there was a distinct chill about Glorfindel's eyes. He felt his own smile widen.

"Lord Glorfindel," Silmo greeted when they stopped a few feet before him. "Lord Lindir; it is good to see you both again." He pointedly ignored Laiglas, in spite of the fact that when Lindir's eldest jumped over the stream to join them, he came closer to Silmo than any of them. Indeed, when he came to a halt, he was standing closer to Silmo than to any of them and faced both of them as if he were the supervisor of a match. Silmo glanced at him and his lips pursed slightly, then he looked back at Lindir. "It is time to leave."

"Aye," Lindir said, and he turned to smile and nod at Glorfindel, who bent his head and kissed him. "I will see you afterwards, maybe even during the trial if I am allowed to return to these halls," Lindir said, and he reached out and squeezed Glorfindel right hand, purposely running his fingers over the other's wedding ring -- the ring that symbolised the oath that they had taken when they had bonded with one another in Imladris. Glorfindel nodded and kissed him again.

"I will see what I can do about visiting you," Glorfindel said. "Please take care; do not push yourself too hard."

Lindir just smiled before turning to Laiglas and accepting a kiss from his eldest on his cheek. His eldest said nothing and his thoughts were hidden behind his closed expression. Slightly disheartened, yet also at the same time reminded of Laiglas's recent spat with Silmo and the possibility that Laiglas might just know how to visit him regardless of the rules, Lindir smiled at him before turning towards Silmo, who held out his hand.

"I am ready," Lindir said, and he took it.

~*~

Before his eyes, both Lindir and Silmo seemed to melt away into the air. It was all too soon -- he had not expected this manner of a disappearance, not anticipated that the Maiar might have this power when even Eonwe had been obliged to escort Lindir up Taniquetil in a carrier.

"It is because Lindir was unwilling that Eonwe could not spirit him away. He was also shaken when Silmo escorted him back down the mountain," Laiglas said suddenly, apparently divining his thoughts. Glorfindel looked at him and met Laiglas's black eyes -- the younger's gaze seemed dimmed slightly. Glorfindel's eyes widened -- he was unused to seeing this side of Laiglas. "I was surprised at their disappearance now as well," Laiglas added. He turned away, back towards the halls.

"Laiglas." Now that Laiglas was being so open with him, perhaps it was a good time to press Lindir's mysterious eldest for information.

"Mm?" Laiglas stopped, but did not turn back to look at him.

"What do you intend to do while Lindir is participating in the trials?"

Laiglas turned his head slightly. "What do _you_ intend to do?" he asked rhetorically, and made to move away again.

"I intend to try every means to attend the trial; to support Lindir," Glorfindel said, watching Laiglas stop again. "As I expect you do as well."

Laiglas exhaled, but did not look back at him. "If and when you see my brother, Lindo," he said simply, "tell him that the colour of his hair is as black as mine. He will know what to do." Then he stalked away. As Glorfindel watched him head towards the halls, he suddenly noticed Linden standing by the side door, waiting for her brother, her face unusually grave. But something was odd. As he watched them enter the house, he raised his hand to rub at his eyes.

He could have sworn that her hair and eyes were black.

~*~

"Sit down there, please, before the mirror." Silmo pointed Lindir towards one of the chairs beside the table beneath the window and Lindir obligingly walked over and did so.

Mere moments after Silmo had spirited him away, Lindir had found himself standing back in the bedroom in which he had first met Silmo -- that room lined with carven wooden columns filled with the golden light of sunshine and the smell of flowers. Now, on the seat, he found Silmo observing him and unexpectedly, felt a rush of self-consciousness -- illogical, but still there -- well up in him. He felt his cheeks fill with blood and he looked away, folding his legs and arms.

Silmo did not comment on his embarrassment, instead turning away and Lindir, glancing up uncertainly, watched the Maia move over to close the curtains across the doorway behind the bed -- the doorway that led to all the exits from the room save the one that led to Sauron's cell. Then the Maia turned back and met his gaze, his eyes grave and keen with the depth of his age. There was now no sign of the playful youth who had greeted Lindir when he had first awoken in these rooms.

"I will ask you once more whether or not you are willing to cooperate with us and to allow me to become your medium before the court," Silmo said. "Once you agree to entrust your memories in me, even though what will be shown to the court will be filtered by me, you will still be obliged to remember everything that is even remotely related to the answers that the court questioners will seek from you. I will not hold back from delving into your most intimate and cruel times." His eyes narrowed. "Indeed, Lindir, if your spirit is not resolved on your decision when you give your answer, the bond that I will subsequently form with your spirit and mine may well feel like a rape."

Lindir swallowed. That very morning, Laiglas had intimated in him the details of what a medium allegedly could do to a witness who was ill prepared for the task of giving evidence.

"One who goes before a medium will have to be prepared to sacrifice everything in their mind," Laiglas had told him.

"Would it be easier then if I were to go before the real court?" Lindir had then asked.

"Aye and nay. If the witness is unskilled in controlling their thoughts, as I suspect you are, then most of your secrets will be plastered before the court anyway and the extra unrelated information may well offend the court and cloud the clarity of your information," Laiglas had replied.

"Plastered?"

"I mean that the whole court will be able to visualise and hear the memories that you give in response, in addition to your verbal responses to the questions. It will be shown on the screen that lies at the front of the courtroom; this is what all the witnesses have to endure."

"And Sauron?" Lindir had wondered how Laiglas had come across this information. Was this what Laiglas had been doing on the summit of Taniquetil? Had his son visited the courtroom, perhaps? Perhaps even attended one of the days of the trials of Sauron before he had been called upon as a witness?

"Sauron's memories are also shown on the screen," Laiglas had replied. "But he is skilled at hiding his thoughts. Or perhaps it is that his thoughts are unclouded by emotions. He is probably the best able of all those who have to face the court to handle the pressure. Indeed, ironically, I think he will come out of these trials the least shaken by the ordeal."

"Lindir?" Silmo's voice drew Lindir out of his thoughts. Lindir smiled apologetically and inclined his head. "I do not know what you mean by being prepared for a rape of my mind; I have never experienced such a thing in my life. But I do think that I am as ready for this as I ever shall be." _Indeed, there is no choice for me -- Sauron gave me a choice and this is my only chance to take it._

Silmo's face softened. "Then, my apologies." And before Lindir's eyes, he seemed to fade so that he might be no more than a transparent impression floating in the room -- a ghost or a trick of the eyes. But then suddenly his smile broadened and like the wind, he rushed towards Lindir.

Lindir felt a warm breeze on his face like the breath of a lover hovering in for a kiss, sensed a presence on his skin that felt like a caress, and then... quite suddenly, felt a sensation of deep unease within him. Nauseous if he were about to throw up, hot as if he had come down with a terrible and sudden fever, lethargic and dizzy as if there was too much pressure in his head and in his heart. As if he were weighed down by much more than his own spirit.

Someone else... Silmo, was inside him.

_"How do you feel?"_ Silmo asked then, his voice a mere thought, a floating, alien on the waves of Lindir's foremost thoughts. Lindir reeled in the chair, hurriedly drawing his hands to his mouth as he felt a wave of sickness cramp up his stomach. _"Do not worry, you will not throw up; I guarantee it. I have done this many times -- I know how to take control of your body's repulsion."_

_How do I feel? Indescribable!_ Lindir thought weakly. He looked at the bed. _May I lie down?_

_"I am afraid not; the risk that you will fall asleep is too great. Also, it looks unprofessional for a witness to present their thoughts to the judges lying down -- it is not custom."_

_Then, please, hurry with the questions._ Lindir bent over himself, drawing his hands upwards to cover his forehead in attempt to appease his headache.

_"Not yet,"_ Silmo replied, sounding amused. _"The court is not yet ready for today's trial. The audience is still filing in and Sauron and the judges have yet to enter and take their seats."_

_Can they see my thoughts?_

_"Nay. They do not even know you are aware of them yet -- you have not yet been introduced to them."_ There was a pause, and then Silmo suddenly said, bracingly. "Ah, here come the judges -- King Manwe, Queen Varda, Lord Namo comes and stands beside the doors that lead to the village where the witnesses are housed, my own master -- Lorien... and... his Lady, Este the Healer." He continued listing through the names and Lindir found himself mentally ticking off each of the names of the Valar. He was fairly surprised, then, when he found that neither Lord Aule nor Lady Yavanna were mentioned in the list.

_Why are they not counted amongst the judges?_ he ventured.

Silmo seemed surprised at the question. _"Well, they are both too close to Sauron to be considered impartial enough to be judges -- indeed, they have both become witnesses for the court,"_ he said, _"Lord Aule was his master and Lady Yavanna was once his mentor."_

_Lady Yavanna was...?_ This was not what Lindir had learnt from the elven loremasters of Lindon, Eregion, and Imladris. He straightened in his chair, hands dropping to his lap, his brow knitted to a frown, though he knew that there was no one to see it.

_"Aye, actually, she was once counted a judge alongside my own master, but when it was revealed, early on in the trial, that she was the one who had nurtured Sauron's interest in birds and beasts, an interest that would later foster his interest in the creation of some of his servants, then it was decided that she could not be one of those who could pass judgement on him. Now, both Aule and Yavanna are only honoured members of the audience."_

There was another pause. Then Silmo spoke again, _"Now comes Sauron, escorted by Eonwe and the servants of Lord Tulkas, the Warrior. He arrives through the door behind his cage, his hands in chains."_

_Is it possible for me to see the court?_

_"Nay. But if you wish, on one of your free days soon, I will escort you up to the summit for a tour of the hall."_

_I would appreciate it._

_"The judges and defendant have sat down, the audience has calmed, and all the doors have been closed. Now His Highness, Lord Manwe, has risen to request that Eonwe inform them of the name and nature of today's key witness."_

So there was to be no preamble, no welcoming of the audience or recapitulation of the case at hand. Lindir shifted uneasily in his seat -- the knowledge that he was indeed just another face among hundreds, perhaps thousands of other witnesses that the court had faced and had still to face. He wondered whether Elrond had already come before the court -- Glorfindel had mentioned that Elrond would soon be appearing before the court. Perhaps Elrond's first appearance would be with him. _What is Eonwe saying to the courtroom?_ he ventured.

_"Your name, your birthplace, your profession in Eregion, and the fact that you spent a few millennia in captivity on close quarters with Sauron and as one of his changelings before eventually escaping, with the help of Olorin, who you knew then as Mithrandir and Gandalf, to Imladris. Think not much on it -- the court will question you on the accuracy of this short history."_

Lindir nodded and swallowed. _Has he spoken about my children?_

_"Only to mention that you are a 'mother' of five, three of which were born in thraldom."_

_Will they mention that Laiglas is Sauron's son?_

He sensed Silmo stiffen slightly, perhaps with indignance at the mention of Laiglas. _"I think it would be strange if they did not eventually mention the names of his parents. I expect Eonwe has not mentioned it either because Laiglas's sire has not been confirmed or because that information would be too distracting for the judges at this point in time."_ At Lindir's responding frown of confusion, Silmo added, more gently, _"Such information introduces the possibility that Sauron possesses emotions of which he is believed incapable -- it makes no sense that Sauron would have a child with you -- such an act appears to serve no logical purpose in the plans that he made to continue and fulfil Melkor's plans. It would completely bewilder the court and direct interest elsewhere from the stages in history that you are supposed to present to the court."_

_Melkor's plans? I... I do not understand -- what are you talking about? Is this information drawn from the days of the trial already past?_

_"There is no time to explain now. Already, they are asking for you to confirm your name and your birthplace in Lindon. Come -- today will be a day of memories before you were confronted with Sauron's betrayal in Eregion."_

~*~

"Father... oh, where is everyone?"

Glorfindel looked around from where he had been standing on the edge of the stream, where almost an hour ago he had been farewelling Lindir, to see Glingal walking towards him from the direction of the house. He smiled slightly. "I thought you were with your cousins," he said.

"I was -- I came back here early -- I had a sudden odd feeling about Lindir."

"Well, your feeling came too late... or you moved too slow," Glorfindel said thoughtfully, looking over Glingal's shoulder to where he had last seen Laiglas and Linden and to where his eyes had, by some trick of the light perhaps, told him that Linden's hair and eyes had turned as black as her brother's.

"What do you mean?"

Glorfindel looked back at Glingal and felt his face soften at his son's confused expression. "Lindir has left us to attend the trial," he said. "The Maia, Lord Silmo, came at the end of our luncheon to escort him there."

There was a pause. Then Glingal exhaled and put his hands on his hips. "I see." He turned his head and looked at the stream, his lips pursed.

"How was the lunch with your sweetheart?"

"Eh? Oh, it was pleasant," Glingal said distractedly, raising one of his hands to run it through his hair. "I wish I had been here, though. Did Lindir send a message or did the Maia leave us a message?"

"Nay; I do not even know how long he will be away," Glorfindel said. "By the way, did you see Laiglas and Linden on your way here?"

Glingal shook his head. "Nay. Oh, but that reminds me -- Linden told me over breakfast that Gloredhel and Lindo were on their way. She told me to tell Lindo that his hair and eyes were..."

"Black?"

Glingal's eyes widened. Glorfindel felt his smile turn rueful. "Laiglas said the same to me, though he said nothing of Gloredhel's coming," he explained to his surprised son. "I thought he was uncontactable."

"Apparently she has been trying to summon both of them these past few weeks," Glingal said, pulling a face. "She seemed rather tense today and her words to me seemed to be telling me that she was going somewhere -- on a journey, though she just smiled when I questioned her about it. Did you notice anything? Did Laiglas tell you anything?"

Glorfindel snorted at the last question. "Nay, though I also had a feeling that Laiglas was going somewhere." He looked back at the last place where he had seen Linden. _It seems as if she and Laiglas are working together._ "I wonder what they mean with all this talk about black hair and eyes." He looked at Glingal, whose brow rose.

"And why are you looking at me?"

"Well, you _are_ closer to Linden and Laiglas than I."

"In case you have not noticed, I have been rather distracted these past few weeks."

"I had noticed, but I still thought that you were closer to Linden than I."

"And you are closer to the core of this whole situation -- Lindir, and we are even and I am not enjoying this conversation." Glingal spread his hands.

Glorfindel pursed his lips and shrugged. "Me neither. Peace?"

"Peace." Glingal put his hands back on his hips. "Well, I do not think much of the welcoming party for Gloredhel when he arrives for if Laiglas, Linden, and Lindir are all absent and Lindo is to embrace his siblings' strangeness," he said. "He will probably ask us, with much resentment, why we called him away from his holiday in the first place."

"Hm."

There was a pause.

Then Glingal asked, "What do you intend to do now that Lindir is attending the trials?"

"I was hoping that I might be able to attend the trials... or at least to find a way to visit Lindir," Glorfindel said. When Glingal's face brightened hopefully, he smiled. "Would you care to join me when I make my request of Ingwe later today?"

"I would like that indeed, though, is Lindir happy for us to be his audience?"

"I have not discussed it with him," Glorfindel said.

Glingal frowned. "Then..."

"But," Glorfindel interrupted, "I have the feeling that Lindir is intending to tell the court -- the public -- things that he has never managed to tell me. And I think that perhaps it would be easier on him if he only had to go through the telling once."

Glingal's frown deepened. "That makes sense, though, it seems strange to me that he is happy to tell the public what he cannot tell you first."

Glorfindel forced a smile. "Well," he said bracingly, "that, I suppose, is just the way events have worked out."

Chapter 11

_“How did you meet Sauron?”_ Silmo asked.

After the court had asked him various questions to confirm his identity and confirm that he was indeed a former thrall and did consider himself as one, they had proceeded straight into the questions pertinent to Lindir's history with Sauron.

_I met him in Eregion. In the Second Age of the Sun. He was introduced to me soon after he had moved into Celebrimbor’s house."_

_"Who introduced you?"_

_"My master, Erestor, son of Erendur. He was Lord Celebrimbor's chief scribe and advisor. I was his assistant. Lord Annatar came to Erestor's study one day; I was there at the time so Erestor introduced us."_

_"How long had you worked for Erestor before that day?"_

_Not long at all. About six years._

_“Was that your first station?”_

_Yes and no. My placement in Eregion was the last stage in my training to become a scribe._

_"What were you doing before you received your placement in Eregion?"_

_I was in Lindon, my homeland, and training with Lord Elrond, son of Earendil, then herald to King Gil-galad._

_"Elrond was then and is still a highly regarded scholar. Your placement as his student suggests that you were a talented student."_

_"Please explain."_

_Before then I was completing my scribe training in Lindon. I was born in Lindon, which is where my family was based._

_“Why did you move to Eregion?”_

_Well, I was recommended to become Erestor’s assistant by my then teacher, Elrond, who thought highly of Erestor._

_“So were you a good student?”_

_I like to think I was a good student. Elrond said I was exceptional and that he hoped to see me back in Lindon one day._

__“Back to Annatar. You say when he first arrived in the kingdom. By that, do you mean that he was new to everyone in the kingdom?”_ _

__Not to everyone. I think Celebrimbor and some other jewel smiths had heard something of Annatar’s skills with jewel-smithery previously, but I had not heard of him before then._ _

__“Not as Sauron?”_ _

__Well, of course I had heard of the name Sauron, but that Annatar was Sauron or that Sauron was even active after the War of Wrath, never entered my mind then._ _

__“Were you aware at the time that Annatar had already tried and been refused entry to Lindon?”_ _

_No. I knew later that Gil-galad had written to warn Celebrimbor, but Celebrimbor at the time did not tell us that Gil-galad had written such a warning to him._

__"Why do you think that Celebrimbor, in spite of Gil-galad’s warnings, admitted Annatar to Eregion and did not tell the citizens about Gil-galad's rejection of him?”_ _

__I do not know. I think that perhaps Celebrimbor felt pressured by the jewel smith population in Eregion to admit Annatar and did not wish to concern the rest of us. Also, there was no conclusive evidence that Gil-galad had sound reason for refusing Annatar entrance to Eregion; Lindon was very conservative realm at that time and suspicious of outsiders._ _

__“Lindir,”_ Silmo said then. _“Eonwe has requested that you now recall your first encounter with Sauron.”__

__How?_ _

__“I will help you. It is quite easy once the process has started. See the images in your mind’s eye and try to recall the feelings, the smells, the lights, and the sounds that travel with the memory; it should flow from there. I will help you sustain the memory.”_ _

_Lindir swallowed, inclined his head, and tried to do as Silmo said. He thought of his first familiar memory of that day that came right before Sauron’s arrival and focused on it. That the memory incidentally happened to begin with his then master, Erestor, Celebrimbor’s scribe, and it involved Erestor telling him off, was no surprise to him._

__

~*~

The scribe Erestor was in a terribly foul mood and he seemed intent on letting everyone over whom he had any power have a taste of it before the morning was out. And unfortunately for Lindir, who was the only other permanent occupant of Erestor’s study, this meant that he received the full brunt of the scribe’s wrath.

Lindir, his ears still ringing from the verbal lashing that Erestor had given him only minutes ago, waited until Erestor’s back was turned before raising his hand to his mouth to suck at the paper cuts on his fingers. Curse Erestor for standing over him and criticising him for the past few hours and making him tremble so much that he could not hold his work properly. Even if he _had_ misspelled Ereinion Gil-galad’s name throughout the _Anthology of Elven Kings_ book that Erestor had been dictating to him over the past month, that was no reason for the scribe to rant and rave at him and make them both feel miserable.

_What on Arda bit him at breakfast and where on his person did it bite him?_ he thought grumpily as he watched Erestor stalk into the back room with the copy and slam the door so hard that the paintings shook on the wall. He glanced up at the day schedule that was pinned on the wall before him and above his desk in the corner. Save for the tasks that he had already completed and cut his fingers on, it was blank. If Erestor had been in a better mood, it was likely that the scribe would have let him have the rest of the day free even though it was not yet noon.

But as it stood, it was likely that Erestor would simply give him some extra work - probably something dusty that would make him sneeze. Perhaps the scribe would even offload some of his own work onto him.  
He turned around in his chair and stared at Erestor’s desk, which sat in the centre of the room; nicely cast in the golden glow of the morning sun that was streaming through the windows, and the fat diary that was sitting on top of it, full of Erestor’s appointments. Lindir filled it in and checked it every morning, usually as soon as he arrived in the scribe’s study at dawn, though sometimes he was still eating his breakfast so he did something else that would not matter so much if he got crumbs all over it.

And he could not recall having put anything in that diary for today save for a lunch appointment of Erestor’s with the scribe’s own colleagues. Lindir was not invited.

So what was up with the scribe? Aside from the scribe’s dull anthology book.

He thought back to the diary’s entry for the previous few days… and then forward to the next few days…

Or maybe he really had struck a nerve with Erestor with the book. Maybe the book had been dearer to Erestor than he had thought. What anyone would want with an anthology book containing many long and overcomplicated words when the same royalty stories were plastered over almost every single wall space of the realm in big colourful pretty pictures baffled him, though.

His musings were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Lindir took his fingers out of his mouth, hurriedly ran over to wash and dry them at the wash basin near his desk, then went to the door to pull it open right after the second knock.

He did not recognise the individual standing there. Tall, fair-haired, slender but not weak, extremely handsome with a sort of classical face that Lindir was used to seeing on old-fashioned busts. In spite of his rather plain-coloured blue robes, he looked like a fashion model. He smiled hesitantly at Lindir, as if unsure he had found the right place.

“Can I help you?” Lindir asked.

“Ah,” began the stranger. His accent was strange. Lindir's brow creased.

The backroom door suddenly opened and Erestor stalked forward, a wide smile welcome on his face that was in complete denial of his temper tantrum only minutes ago. Lindir suppressed his intense urge to scowl. Before him, the stranger’s expression relaxed and he smiled broadly.

“Erestor!” he said.

“Lord Annatar,” Erestor said then, coming over to embrace him, “I trust you found this study without too much of a struggle?”

“Not too much of a struggle at all, though I did wonder when I saw this one.” Annatar gestured at Lindir, who had stepped neatly aside and back towards his desk to give them both some room.

“Ah, Lindir, allow me to introduce you to Lord Annatar, a special guest of Lord Celebrimbor’s. Annatar, this is Lindir, my assistant.”

The tall stranger turned back towards Lindir; his laughing eyes widened. “Your assistant! But he looks so young!”

Lindir, feeling awkward under the scrutiny, smiled slightly and inclined his head.

“He is young, but extremely capable at his work,” Erestor said. “Usually.” He shot Lindir a sharp look before returning his attention to Annatar. “Now, what brings you here at this hour?”

“Oh, Celebrimbor informed me that you deal with all of the mail that comes through Eregion.”

“We both do,” Erestor said. “Usually it is Lindir who sorts through it as I am often occupied with other work.”

Annatar turned his brilliant smile back onto Lindir, who felt his face turn red under the once again intense scrutiny. “Is that so? Well, I was wondering if there was any news for me.”

“No, Your Lordship, not today,” Lindir said. “But when there is, it will be delivered to you personally so there will be no need for you to call on us.”

“Oh, and who will be the deliverer,” Annatar asked, his gaze not shifting from him. “You?”

“Ah, not usually me.”

“May I request that it be you?” Annatar’s eyes glittered slightly, but not in an unfriendly manner. Lindir swallowed and looked at Erestor, who nodded agreeably.

“Lindir will be happy to deliver your mail to you,” he said.

“Good. Then with that settled, I would like to move onto my second and reason for disturbing you," Annatar said. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked back at Erestor. "His Lordship informed me that this is where I must call if I have an interest outside of jewel smithery."

Erestor's brow creased. "And what interest might that be, Your Lordship?" he asked.

"Well, I have always had an interest in other cultures and since I came here, that interest has blossomed. So I was hoping that one of you might be able to help me locate the realm's archives on different cultures, especially those cultures located in the eastern and far eastern regions of Middle-earth," Annatar said. He looked about the room. "Do you store your books here?"

"No, there is a library down the hall," Erestor said, "would you like me to show you there?"

"Ah, not at the moment," Annatar said, "I have a lunch appointment and then I am busy with Celebrimbor in the smitheries all day; perhaps, if it were not too much trouble though, could I have some books chosen and sent up to my rooms for me by tomorrow night?"

"I will send Lindir to choose and deliver the books," Erestor said. "He will attend to your request tomorrow morning and have the books delivered to your rooms before noon." He gestured towards Lindir, who inclined his head.

"I would be delighted, Your Lordship."

Annatar, smiling broadly, bowed, shot Lindir a wink, and then turned and left the room.

After the door had shut, Erestor turned and looked at him. “Do not be in a hurry to come back to the study tomorrow when you deliver the books to him; he is a formidable favourite of our lord,” he said shortly, then he turned and went back into the back room.

Lindir exhaled heavily. _Well, at least I will be out of the study tomorrow,_ he thought glumly as he walked back to the wash basin to look in the cupboard underneath for some ointment to put on his fingers.

_“Lindir, stop now.”_ Silmo’s voice intervened into the recollection. Lindir blinked. _“How would you describe your relationship in Eregion with Sauron?”_

_We were friends._

_“Who befriended who?”_

_We both befriended each other._

_“Why were you interested in befriending him? You were not a jewel smith?”_

_I was encouraged to befriend him because he was an important foreign guest and he often called on me to find him books and run him errands. I also enjoyed his company. I suppose I also was a little lonely._

_“Lonely?”_

_I was still a newcomer to Eregion and although I had friends, I had few close ones. Sauron seemed to be in a similar situation._

_“Why do you think he befriended you?”_

_I had hoped it was because he liked me like I liked him._

_“And how did you like him?”_

_I liked him very much._

_“How much? More than a friend?”_

_Yes._

_“A lover?”_

_Yes._

_“Did you become lovers?”_

_No… yes, well not really…_

_“Why not?”_

_Well, after I told him that I loved him, we began to sometimes kiss and embrace, but we never went beyond the barest of touches. Not then in Eregion, anyway._

_“Back to your thoughts on why he befriended you. In hindsight, why do you think he befriended you. Beyond any possibility that he might have done so because he enjoyed your company.”_

_He did so because I was close to Erestor and by that, close to Celebrimbor. I knew Celebrimbor’s movements, including most of his political movements. I also was vulnerable for the reason I already stated: I was still new to the realm and had few ties with the older residents._

~*~

"It is very quiet over this table. I feel like I am intruding on something private. Am I?" Ecthelion asked, looking between Glingal and Glorfindel who both sat on either side of the narrow tea table on the porch of the courtyard that lined the library. Tea and cakes had been set out before father and son, courtesy of the servants that the King had ordered to attend to them after they had met with him earlier that afternoon, as soon as they had left the place where they had lunched. But neither Glorfindel nor Glingal had touched the food. Nor had they spoken much with one another. Only now, with Ecthelion standing over them, the elf having noticed them on his way out of the library, did they stir to speak.

"No, you are not intruding at all," Glorfindel said. He waved for Ecthelion to pull up a seat and join them. "Lindir was called away to the trial a few hours ago."

"Oh."

"We spoke to Ingwe," Glorfindel continued. Across from him, Glingal stirred and reached out to pour Ecthelion a cup of tea and offer him cake. "He is willing to let us attend the trial as members of the audience."

"So what is the problem?" Ecthelion asked, nodding his thanks to Glingal and nodding again when Glingal silently offered to serve him some cake as well. "Thank you."

"It is nothing important -- quite a petty reason," Glingal supplied, when Glorfindel looked away. "Ingwe will not let us go up there until the end of the week, when he is able to accompany us. We shall only be allowed to stay one day and then, depending on how we feel, he said that we may accompany him at the end of the following week."

Ecthelion nodded slowly, frowning slightly. "How is that a problem?"

"Ecthelion," Glorfindel asked then, "were you allowed to watch your brother when he attended the trial?"

Ecthelion shook his head, slicing a piece of icing off of his cake with his fork. "That question does not apply to me -- I never asked for permission; my brother made it quite clear to me that he had no wish for me to share his memories. Even though I may still hear details of his accounts to the court through hearsay, it is not the same." He raised his fork, then lowered it. "Surely though, even if you are not able to meet with Lindir, you will be able to meet with members of the audience who will be happy to update you on the details of the court that you have missed?"

"So we hope," Glorfindel said. He exhaled heavily.

"But there is still something wrong?"

Glorfindel exchanged a worried look with Glingal, who pulled a sympathetic face, clearly echoing his thought that this was not the half of their problems.

On their way to consult Ingwe, they had attempted to find Laiglas and Linden, to invite them to see the King with them. But on venturing to find them, they had then discovered that Laiglas and Linden had disappeared. And not merely left them as Laiglas had done frequently over the past few weeks, but actually _left_ them. Left without a trace. Their rooms had been vacated, their possessions gone. No messages had been left for them and no one knew to where they had gone. Indeed, save for theirs and the servants' memories of Laiglas and Linden ordering various servants to assist them in carrying their bags out to the carrier that had apparently arrived for them outside the halls borne by elves of unknown origin, it seemed that neither Laiglas or Linden had accompanied them to the halls from Tirion at all.

When they had expressed their concerns to Ingwe, the King had seemed just as uninformed of the situation as them. "I had not heard that they had left," Ingwe had said, and for the first time since they had arrived, the elderly elf had actually looked sympathetic with their distress and confusion. Glorfindel suspected that that was why Ingwe had sent for tea for them, as an expression of his sympathy, though it was very small comfort. He vaguely wondered if this feeling was reminiscent of how Ingwe and his own parents had felt when he had disappeared amongst the crowds of elves who had participated in the kinslaying and then departed for Beleriand. Many of the relatives of those who had left Aman at that time had not known for certain the whereabouts of their kin for many months, years, even centuries after their loved ones had disappeared.

"Could it be, perhaps, that Lindir does not wish for you to see his part in the trial?" Ecthelion asked, drawing Glorfindel forth from his thoughts. Glorfindel blinked and looked back at him.

"He has said nothing definite," he said, raising his hand to rub it over his mouth and chin. His lips felt a little dry; he wondered if they had bothered Lindir earlier when he had kissed him after lunch earlier in the afternoon. "Actually, to tell the truth, we have not discussed the matter at all."

"Really? But you both seemed to be so relaxed about your situation when I last met you all," Ecthelion said, referring to when they had last ate together less than a week ago. He frowned when Glorfindel frowned. "That was not an act that you both put on for me, was it?"

"Nay, well, well... nay," Glorfindel said, frowning when Ecthelion shot him a sceptical look. "Well, we have never discussed his past as a thrall and he seemed so stressed about his situation now that it was impossible to discuss the details of it without an argument so we... just... let it drop and focussed on enjoying our time together without worrying about the trial."

There was a silence. Then Ecthelion shrugged. "I... suppose I understand," he said slowly.

"Well..."

"But it does not sound at all like you," Ecthelion continued, interrupting him. "I never knew you to be patient."

Glorfindel smiled ruefully. So Ecthelion had finally noticed his change in character now, had he? "Before I met Lindir, I, also, did not know that I could be so patient," he said.

"Ho?" Ecthelion smiled.

In the ensuing silence, Glorfindel reached out and filled the cups before him and Glingal -- even if neither of them particularly felt like drinking, it was rude for Ecthelion to be drinking alone.

Presently Ecthelion said, "Well, the way I see it, if Lindir gave you no clue as to whether or not he was happy for you to attend the trial as audience members, then the decision to attend is entirely left up to you."

"And that is why we went to Ingwe and gained his permission," Glingal said. "Though we are disappointed to learn that we may only have one chance a week at most to see Lindir, whether in person or in court."

A servant suddenly appeared through the archway that led back to the passageway outside the library. She came over to them, a silver tray in her hands, and stopped beside Glingal. On it sat a folded and sealed letter. 

“A letter for you, Your Lordship,” she said.

“From whom?”

Glorfindel wondered if it were from Lindir or Laiglas. The fact that it was addressed to Glingal, however, strongly suggested that the letter was more likely to have been written by Glingal’s sweetheart.

He was therefore surprised, then, when the maid simply shook her head and replied that she did not know, and Glingal, on picking up the letter and tearing it open, gave a cry of surprise.

“It is from Linden,” he said.

“To my beloved brother Glingal,” he read, “Perhaps you do not remember, but when you very small, I once told you that one day, I and my older brothers might have to…”

At this point he fell silent and though he continued to read as his eyes continued to scan the letter, he did not read it to them. As he read, his brow creased and he swallowed more than once, as if greatly disconcerted.

Finally, at the end, he handed the letter silently to Glorfindel and then leaned back in his chair, his eyes downcast towards the table.

Glorfindel, noting his grave look, picked up the letter and read it anxiously.

_To my beloved brother Glingal,_

_Perhaps you do not remember, but when you very small, I once told you that one day, I and my older brothers might have to leave you forever. That moment is now. We have left Elvenhome._

_I have never had Laiglas's strength. I have always been afraid of who I might be and then, when Laiglas showed me irrefutable evidence, always in denial. But now I have no choice and so, with Laiglas's courage to assist me, and even though I abhor everything about my real father, I have chosen to cast off everything that is false about me. Everything will soon be uncovered and perhaps very soon, you will be in denial that Laiglas, Lindo, and I were and are your siblings. Perhaps that will be a good thing for it will be a time of turmoil for you as well._

_Laiglas and I have travelled to the summit of Taniquetil. We have spoken with Lord Manwe who has allowed us, with his compassion, to stay there until the conclusion of the trial or until we wish to leave._

_I cannot express the depth of my grief in leaving you and Gloredhel and of course the elf who I will always consider as the father who raised me - Glorfindel - behind. You will always be in my thoughts and held dear to my heart._

_Perhaps, should you come to attend the trial, we shall meet one another on the summit. Perhaps you will also understand better then as to why I have made this choice. I hope that you will be able to forgive me._

_May the Valar always watch over you, dearest one._

_Your sister,_

_Linden_

_Glorfindel raised his eyes to look across the table at Glingal, who he noticed had moved and was sitting with his elbows on the table, his face in his hands. “Glingal?”_

_“I am well,” his son replied. “And yet also extremely unwell.”_

_Glorfindel swallowed and looked at Ecthelion and the maid, the latter of whom had not moved and was hovering around them as if she had received instructions to listen in on the contents of the letter. “Ecthelion, please forgive us, but Glingal and I must return to our rooms.” He carefully refolded the letter._

_Ecthelion nodded and rose. “Of course. Bad news?”_

_“I am afraid so. Thank you.”_

_Chapter 12 - Alone_

_“I have never seen a courtroom as silent as that one when you alluded to being his lover in Eregion,” Silmo said._

_On hearing Silmo’s words, Lindir, who was now seated on the side of the bed, lowered his hands from where they had been covering his face to look up at the Maia. Silmo stood at the window, leaning against the sill and facing him. Outside, the sky had turned a pale orange-pink colour – dusk._

_“Why did Eönwë not announce Laiglas’s parentage?” he asked. “What were you speaking of with regards to Melkor’s plans? What did you mean when you said that Sauron is perceived as unable to have any emotions at all?”_

_“As I said, Eönwë is unsure of Laiglas’s parentage,” Silmo said. “His sire’s identity is hidden from us and Sauron has not claimed him. Neither has Laiglas claimed Sauron as his sire. That Laiglas is half-Maia, however, is unmistakable.”_

_“Earlier, last night when you came to me, you called Laiglas Sauron’s spawn.”_

_Silmo’s brow creased slightly. “It was an expression,” he said. “I was angry.” His brow creased further. “You think it true, then?”_

_Lindir looked at him. Then he shrugged and shook his head slowly, tiredly. “I… do not know,” he said softly. But in his heart he knew that he was lying._

_Silmo gazed at him, still frowning, for a few more moments. Then he said, “And what of Lindo and Linden, the other children born in thraldom?”_

_“I do not know.”_

_“Neither of them have shown their Maia blood, if indeed they are Sauron’s children,” Silmo said. “But of course, this does not mean to say that they are not his children. When in Elvenhome and surrounded by elves, what Maia has not worn the form of an elf at least once?”_

_“Mm.” Lindir nodded slowly; discomforted by his words. There was a silence._

_Then Lindir ventured to remind Silmo of his other questions. “And what of Melkor’s plans?”_

_“Sauron’s efforts to enslave the free folk of Middle-earth are largely in mimicry of his own master’s, Melkor’s, attempts to do so. Some believe that Melkor induced Sauron to attempt - ceaselessly - to complete his plans. There is no evidence, though, that Sauron was forced to continue the undeniably crazed Melkor’s work. No signs on his body or spirit that indicate that he was tortured or placed under an enchantment. The question remains, however, why Sauron was working in imitation of Melkor. Was it by choice? Had Melkor enslaved him? Was his mind so completely devoted to the plans of Melkor by that time that he was past reform? Or was there some other reason at work?”_

_“Why do you even think that he was enslaved by Melkor?” Lindir asked. “Sauron, arguably, did considerably more damage to the world beyond Valinor than anything that Melkor achieved. At least in terms of the number of those he slew and tortured.”_

_“Truly? And what of the world before the Elves awoke? And the Avari, the unwilling elves who refused the summons of the Valar to Valinor at the time when the fathers of elves were young and wide-eyed? What of the first Secondborn, the humans, who were born alone and without assistance from the Valar.”_

_“So Melkor did more damage?”_

_Silmo smiled then, sadly. “I do not know. Only Lord Námo knows the numbers that travel through Mandos, the Halls through which the Houseless spirits gather after their bodies are slain, and he is a judge of the trial who will not reveal his mind to anyone save Lord Manwë.”_

_“And what of my other question? What is this perception that Sauron has no emotions?”_

_“You misheard. Sauron is only believed to be incapable of certain emotions. Certainly, he experiences pleasure in such measures as to bewilder even the Valar when he is at work; he has always done so. The manipulation and investigation of birds, beasts, the elements that compose Arda, as well as the children of Elevator, is a source of intense and ceaseless delight to him. It is no surprise to us even now that he was Lord Aulë’s chief servant.”_

_“Yes, but what are these emotions of which he is believed incapable?” Lindir pressed impatiently._

_Silmo smiled slightly. “Love?” he suggested. “A fondness for another spirit, even in the slightest measure?”_

_“Well, what about his fondness for Melkor? His wolves?”_

_Silmo shook his head. “Nay, Lindir. Sauron chose to turn to Melkor because Melkor allowed him the freedom to indulge in his terrible experiments to an extent that he had never – was never and could never – be allowed to have under Aulë. He never had an affinity for Melkor. As for his wolves, they were his servants. When they were useful to him, he kept them safe and well. But when they were no longer so – just as I expect it was with you – he discarded them.”_

_“But then he went on and imitated Melkor. Surely then he…?”_

_Silmo shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps Sauron did become affectionate towards his new master; perhaps loyalty is why he continued Melkor’s plans.” He turned away. “Of course, there are other emotions and abilities that we consider natural that he does not seem to have within his character: there is no jealousy – only an honest and extremely passionate interest in his work. This is why some of us believe that he so easily drew Celebrimbor into his trust – his character in that respect rings true and is attractive to others who are also devoted to the discovery and research and creation of new and strange things.”_

_Lindir nodded silently._

_Silmo continued. “And what of lust? Does he have lust?” Now he looked at Lindir. “You would know the answer to this better than I. Does he have lust, Lindir?”_

_Lindir shook his head. “Not that I saw… or felt,” he said._

_“You claimed today that in Eregion, he began to kiss and embrace you only after you said to him that you loved him. Did he ever show any passion towards you?”_

_“No. Never.”_

_“And later?”_

_“Still never, and he never even kissed or embraced me except when I begged him and he saw a use apart from passion in doing so after the day I entered thraldom.” Lindir swallowed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “When will the court continue to question me on my relationship with him?”_

_“Probably tomorrow. Or later. You took the court aback when you admitted to being in love with him today; they are most likely discussing your answer, reorientating themselves, and composing new questions for you at this very moment. This is the first time that an individual has come close to admitting to having any affection for him that was not induced by him for the purpose of his experiments.”_

_Lindir nodded silently again, his thoughts now turning to what Glorfindel’s reaction would be when his spouse heard that he had admitted to loving Sauron. There was a pause. Presently, Silmo spoke again and said, “I should warn you,” he said, “that the court probably now thinks you either mad, foolish in heart, or an unfortunate victim of Sauron’s too-successful facade of civility towards the elves of Eregion.”_

_“So they pity me?”_

_“Most likely.”_

_“And what of Glorfindel? When will he hear of what I said in there today?” Lindir swallowed._

_“I did not see him in the courtroom this afternoon, but now that the room has filed out for today and the attendant members are not silenced, who can say? He could already know.”_

_Lindir swallowed again and covered his face. Suddenly, a great sob escaped from his chest. “Elevator help me, Silmo!” he gasped. “What is he going to think of me?”_

_Silmo said nothing. When Lindir lifted his tear-stained face to look back at the Maia, he saw that Silmo had turned away to look out of the window. Sunset had passed; the sky had now turned a deep dark hue of blue and the stars inset in the blanket of rich velvet shone like diamonds sewn deep into the fabric._

__

~*~

In Ingwë’s halls, Glorfindel and Glingal sat in the parlour of Glingal’s rooms: Glorfindel at the window seat, Glingal at the table in the middle of the room. There was a half-eaten roast chicken on the table and the remains of a bowl of fruit and cooked salad alongside it, as well as two – one still untouched – bottles of wine. The early supper had been delivered to them soon after they had retired to Glingal’s rooms, even though it had not been long since they had had afternoon tea.

Only Glingal had eaten. The elf had seemed insatiable when he had seen the meal. Glorfindel had had no appetite and had refused each of Glingal’s frequent gestures and then spoken requests for him to join him.

Glorfindel was restless. His thoughts kept on turning towards Lindir, and Laiglas and Linden. Why?

Why? Why? Why?

And although he could sympathise with Glingal’s sudden intense desire to eat – for though he was not hungry himself, he did indeed feel like doing something crazy and vicious and sickening and binge-like. But unlike Glingal, he was not so much of the type to be able to let out his aggression and frustration by hurting himself. Hurting others – things extraneous to himself – was his habit, whether he would it or not. And now he was restless.

“I am not hungry, Glingal,” he said sharply, when Glingal looked at him again. “And now, are you going to continue eating or are we to talk about the contents of Linden’s letter?”

“What is there to talk about?” Glingal said, looking at him, his face tense. He looked unhappier than he had done when he had come into the room – before he had glutted himself on that food.

Glorfindel felt his jaw tighten with frustration. “Linden was obviously closer to you than she ever was to me. And so, I was hoping that you would tell me what she meant when she told you – when you were small – that one day she might leave you, and what it means now.”

Glingal swallowed and looked back at the food. He reached out and began to pick at the remains of the chicken. His actions were as restless as Glorfindel felt. “I do not remember her telling me such a thing when I was small,” he said. “I only remember that all of us have always looked up to Laiglas. Ever since I was born, I noticed that my siblings all looked up to him. Aye, even Lindo when he was not in a temper and being chastised by Laiglas.”

“Laiglas has always looked after all of you, even if he never showed much affection to either Gloredhel or you. He is a remarkable elf and has always been an admirable source of endless support for Lindir.”

Glingal shook his head and continued his own tale. “Later, of course, Lindo and Gloredhel and I thought less of him. We saw his flaws – his inability to trust those outside our family, including you. His desire, even, to send these individuals away - _including_ his own siblings’ own friends and attempted sweethearts. We saw that he had no interest in love and no interest in our own ventures into that realm of treachery and delight. We also saw that though he sometimes smiled at or with us, he rarely ever laughed except when alone with Lindir. And over time, as we made our own paths and increasingly rejected his silent attempts to mother us as he had done when we were small, he simply became more and more of an enigma to us.”

“And so what is your impression of Laiglas now?”

“I do not understand him at all. He is still an enigma to me. And though it is plain to me that he is devoted to Lindir, I do not understand why he has remained in that state. It is as if he is stuck, forever, in his role as the scared and suspicious outsider that he must have been when he first arrived in Imladris. As if he cannot move on from his state as the chief carer for his siblings as the case had been when Lindir was working for such long hours that some days he never saw his own children except when they were asleep – already put to bed by Laiglas.” Glingal, his face twisted as if in his mind’s eye he was recalling bitter memories, picked up a chicken wing between finger and thumb, then tossed it back into the dish and began to clean his hands on his napkin. Then he suddenly stopped and turned his head to look at Glorfindel, his face still bitter. “I wish I knew what Linden saw in him. What secrets lie between those three because by the Valar, I know there are secrets between them that they have never shared with Gloredhel and I. We have always felt like outsiders to them. It is like them and us.”

“They are different,” Glorfindel tried. “They are thralls.”

“Yes, but Linden was born in Imladris!”

Glorfindel frowned. “She was born as an outsider!” he emphasised. “Even if she seems to be the most well-adjusted of all of them, she was raised as an outcast of Imladris! You and Gloredhel had luxuries that none of them knew when they were children!”

Glingal face twisted with frustration. He threw down the napkin. There were tears in his eyes. “Do you think I have not tried to understand?” he cried. “Do you think that I have never tried to imagine – hundreds of, probably thousands of times – what they went through in Dol Guldur? Do you think that I have never tried to envision what might have turned them into such strangers? What did I do to make them see me as an outsider beyond being your son and having a sire that I could name?”

“You are an outsider to them,” Glorfindel said sharply. “You will always be an outsider to them. As to their experiences as thralls and before your birth, you will never know what happened to them except, perhaps, a few fleeting glimpses via Lindir’s mind when we eventually venture as audience members to that courtroom on Taniquetil’s summit.”

Glingal stared at him resentfully – almost hatefully.

Glorfindel added then, harshly, “And for that matter, Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden aside, consider my position as an outsider to Lindir. Do you ever think about the fact that when I touch Lindir, I do so with the knowledge that he has already been touched – and not only touched, but abused? Abused into such a state that he could barely stand my touch yet also had forgotten how to refuse when I first met him? Every single part of him has been violated! Every single part! And he will neither let me in so that I might seek out ways to heal him, nor to relate to me how he was hurt. Can you imagine how frustrating that is for me? How angry I was at him and those who had abused him then? And how angry also I was at myself for having fallen in love with him! You have no comprehension of what I have sacrificed, against every warning in my rational mind, to take in Lindir and his children! But even though I felt and still feel like an outsider, both to his children and especially to him, I still took vows with him! This is what love is, Glingal. You support and trust in each other, unconditionally, at every step.”

Glingal was gazing at him oddly. His face was tight and very pale. Now he said, “Even when he will not trust you enough to tell you what he is now telling a packed courtroom?”

“Yes.”

Glingal then said, coldly, “Well, for both our sakes, I hope he has a sound explanation for his apparent lack of faith in both of us.”

~*~

Silmo had left him alone in the room. Alone at the table with a modest supper – potato and pumpkin pudding. Lindir was fond of the dish and this particular serving was quite excellent, so in spite of the fact that he was not feeling particularly hungry, he was eating it. There was also custard and fruit and he liked that as well, so he was eating that too - at the same time.

Before he had left, Silmo had told him that he would not be absent long and that he would return before midnight, but to not wait for him.

“If you are hungry, there is food in that cupboard,” the Maia had said, pointing at the respective cupboard, which sat within Lindir’s current reach and near the table. “If you are thirsty, there is drink there too. If you wish for a bath, there is a bathroom through that door near the bed. If you are in need of me, call to me in your thoughts.”

“And if I wish to go outside?” Lindir had then asked, indicating the now absent door through which they had, weeks ago, ventured onto the cliff-side path that had taken them to Sauron’s cell. “Is there a garden?”

“There is no garden,” Silmo had said. “But I will mention this request of yours to Lord Eönwë who shall oblige you, I am sure.”

“Thank you.”

Silmo had inclined his head, then departed through the door behind the bed. Lindir had looked back at the meal and begun to pick at it. Occasionally, he turned his head to look out the window at the view of the starlit sky and the jagged silhouettes of the Pelóri Mountains in the distance. There were a few lights dotted about the mountains. Lindir amused himself for a moment with the thought that the more circular lights belonged to hobbit holes.

His thoughts drifted back to the questions that had been posed to him earlier that day - about how he had come to meet Annatar and become his friend, though arguably he could now no longer call it a friendship.

~*~

Lindir dumped the heavy bag of books down on the stair landing with a sigh of relief and sat down beside it, his feet on the first step. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his handkerchief and, on finding it, patted his sweating face with it. Why did Celebrimbor's house have to be almost on the opposite side of the realm from the library? Did his lordship dislike books that much?

 _No, he simply wishes to live close to the smitheries, which are close to the mountains,_ his brain told him.

After a few moments, he suddenly frowned and, listening intently, twisted to look behind him; across the landing to the door to Lord Annatar's rooms. Then he smiled and stood, lifting the bag back onto his shoulder. Annatar was out; he could not hear any signs of movement.

The front door was unlocked so he let himself into the lord's rooms, intending to leave the books on the side table in the parlour with a note when he suddenly heard a sound that made him stiffen.

He could hear shuffling noises in the study.

A servant? Or Annatar?

He trotted over to the study door and opened it quietly. On poking his head inside, he frowned.

There was no longer a desk. Or seats. Instead, stacked against the wall furthest from the windows were four cages. Lindir frowned and crept inside to peer at the animals trapped within the metal bars. Each contained a dog - not elvish and strange to his eyes. All three save one of them appeared to be asleep and seemed to be injured in some way. The dog that was awake was limping about its cage, its right hind leg in a splint.

Curious, he moved closer to look at them, but he had no sooner come within three feet of the cages when the dog that was awake abruptly stopped pacing and turned to look at him - glare suspiciously at him. It had a wolfish look about its face and Lindir shivered. Then, quite suddenly, the dog's lips drew sharply back and it began to snarl - a cold, unnatural - almost crazed sound. Nothing at all like Lindir had ever heard! Lindir took a step back - back towards the door, then started and gasped when his back bumped into someone's chest and a hand landed on his shoulder.

He whirled around to find himself staring up at Annatar.

"I..." he stammered. "I c-c-c-came with the books you requested." He pulled the book bag from his shoulder, then looked up and swallowed when he noticed for the first time that Annatar was not frowning, but smiling at him. That lovely charming and quite disarming smile. Lindir swallowed again.

"Then why do you look terrified?" Annatar inquired, reaching out and taking the bag from him. He smiled slightly and nodded his head towards the cages. "Did my friend frighten you?"

Lindir looked back at the cage to observe then that ever since Annatar had arrived, the dog had stopped snarling. The animal was now settling itself down for a sleep - like the rest of the five animals.

He frowned and looked back at Annatar. "Forgive me," he said, looking now back at Annatar. "I have never had a dog growl at me except in play."

"Well, I suppose we cannot be lucky all of the time," Annatar replied, reaching out and taking his arm. "I found them on my way here - all injured - and decided to take them with me and look after them."

"Are they aggressive towards all of your visitors?"

"Of course not," Annatar said smoothly. "You are simply unlucky." He ushered Lindir out of the study and back into the parlour, then across to where another parlour room was located. "Come, the study has been moved into this room," he said, opening the door and ushering Lindir into the room. "I found the light preferable in this room." He showed Lindir into a room with dark red walls that was well furnished with the desk from the other room and surrounded on all sides with bookshelves. There were no windows.

"Oh, but it is darker in here," Lindir said, frowning.

"Precisely."

"Oh. Do you work easier in a dark environment, then?"

"Indeed." Annatar, still smiling cheerfully, put the book bag down on the desk and, folding his arms, sat down beside it on the edge. "May I assume, though, from your frown, that you do not?"

Lindir laughed. "I suppose so." He looked about the shelves, which did not contain books, but rather were filled with bottles filled with powders and liquids of many different colours. He looked back at Annatar, who was watching him with patient amusement, and smiled brightly at him. "Are you a collector?" he inquired. "A healer as well as a skilled jewel smith, perhaps?"

"A dabbler," Annatar said. "Are you interested in medicine?"

"No," Lindir said. He tilted his head flirtatiously. "I like food though. That also involves ingredients."

"Food is a basic necessity," Annatar replied. "There are few who do not like it."

Lindir smiled. "I call it an indulgence," he said. "I do tend to eat too much."

"Ah, but when you see it as only an indulgence, you insinuate that it may be cast away. You forget its vital importance, its significance to life," Annatar said. He laughed at Lindir's confused expression. "Many things may be called indulgences, but how many of those are necessities?"

Lindir smiled. "You are very clever," he said. 

"No, I am simply overbold. I tend to act on my thoughts where others would hesitate," Annatar replied calmly. "I am one of the worst kinds of minds. Apparently." He turned to the bag and opened it to begin emptying it of its contents. "You selected these books?"

"Yes, I did. Are you happy with them?"

"With their titles, yes." Annatar looked up and smiled again at him - charmingly. "I have yet to look inside them." Lindir swallowed and felt his cheeks flush. He looked away. On glancing back, he saw Annatar return his attention back to the books.

There was a pause. Presently, Lindir asked, "If I may be so bold, may I learn more about you, Your Lordship? At the moment I know only that you are an important guest of my lord's, a skilled jewel smith, and a healer. Otherwise, you are an enigma to me."

"Is that not information enough for you?" Annatar asked, not looking up.

"Well... no. What is your purpose in coming here to Eregion? Where were you born? What is your age?"

"Oho?" Annatar looked up then, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. "You are quite insatiable," he remarked. Lindir felt his face flush harder. "I think this scrutiny quite unfair considering that I know only that you are an assistant to Celebrimbor's chief scribe, Erestor."

"I apologise. I am happy to answer those questions, if you are truly interested in learning more about me."

"There is no need to apologise; you are merely curious," Annatar said. "As for learning more about you, I would indeed appreciate such instruction. But surely you have other business to take care of this afternoon?"

Lindir nodded. "I do, my lordship, but to make myself at your disposal is my chief task."

Annatar laughed. "Then come and take a turn with me through the gardens of Eregion for I have nothing to do this afternoon and I am afraid that Lord Celebrimbor's elaborate tour was most unhelpful as to the basics in navigating this realm."

Lindir laughed and inclined his head. "It would be an honour, Your Lordship."

~*~

_At first,_ Lindir mused, as he scraped the bottom of the custard dish clear, _it had been an amicable friendship._ And that had been how their relationship had remained for many years. It had not developed into more than that until that awful day when Annatar had left Eregion for the first time to travel abroad and he had suddenly realised, realised just how much he had come to depend on the jewel smith.

He supposed he had endangered the realm from the very moment that he had taken that first turn with Annatar in Eregion's gardens. He _had_ spoken to Annatar about secrets of the realm. But then again, Annatar had already had Celebrimbor in his trust so he had seen little danger then and indeed saw that he had done little harm now, in his little gossipy discussions with Annatar about Erestor’s and Celebrimbor’s work.

Even now, he believed that the greatest evil that he had done when in Eregion was not his betrayal of the realm's secrets and what other elves called his chief crime, but his betrayal of the realms of elves and men and dwarves who lived outside the borders of Eregion. Those hundreds of books that he had lent to Annatar over the years about the location and culture and statistics of foreign cultures that the lord had drunk up so greedily. Those languages that he had helped Annatar to learn by not only providing him with books, but taking out time of his own to teach the lord various languages. How many of those peoples had Sauron, gifted with the knowledge that Lindir had taught him, tricked into enslavement?

Knowledge was a dangerous gift in the wrong hands and Lindir knew that he had given Sauron knowledge that, had he a second chance he would have never ever given the Maia.

Now, in Silmo’s room, he sighed and rose to walk over to the bed. There, though he was not tired, he lay down and put his hands behind his head. He lay there for a bit. Then he got up and had a look in the cupboard beside the table. There was some fudge in there. He crouched down and ate a little. After a bit, he decided that he had better take advantage of the apparent privacy to milk himself, so he carried the plate of fudge into the bathroom with him, did his business, washed his hands, and then sat down on the seat beside the bath, next to the window. The bath was next to the window so Lindir set about polishing off the rest of the fudge, in sight of the stars.

_Maybe,_ he thought as he chewed on the soft squares, _Glorfindel is also gazing at the stars._

~*~

Lindir was right. Glorfindel, like Lindir, could not sleep. Unlike Lindir, however, he had access to a garden, so he had gone outside to sit in the courtyard garden outside his bedroom windows. There were few lights on in the buildings about him and underneath the starlit sky, everything appeared imbued in a white-bluish hue. Above him, the blossoms of the linden trees in the canopies shivered in the breeze. And beyond them, through them, rose Taniquetil, high and forbidding, its tip frosted with white snow.

Glingal’s words, undeniably, had affected him. Had reassured his fears. What indeed was Lindir confessing to the courtroom up on the icy summit of Taniquetil? Why had the elf not confided in him? Told him what a soul mate should do? Told him what a soul mate had a responsibility to do?

“But I was not part of his life then,” he argued with himself. “Perhaps he sees me as extraneous to who he was then.”

Then he sighed and said. “He must have split his soul between his life before me and his life after me. Will these halves ever be reconciled?”

But then he argued again to himself. “But Laiglas and Lindo and Linden came out of his life before me. So too came his skills – in minstrelling, in language. His education from before he became a thrall. His skills that he learnt whilst in thraldom. He still uses them. He acknowledges what he was when he is with me. His spirit must then be not completely in two parts.”

Then he fell silent as his thoughts then shifted not to further consider the hopeless dilemma in which he found himself here and now, but rather to recall when he had first met Lindir and how he had come to like the elf so much. So much so that he had, eventually, asked if he would do him the honour of accepting his hand both in an uncustomary marriage and also in help.

He had been absent from Imladris at the time that Lindir had arrived and settled there with his sons, Laiglas and Lindo, and his still unborn daughter, Linden. And by the time he had returned to the realm, Linden had been born, Lindir's body had recovered from the pregnancy and returned to its rightful male shape, and whatever gossip that had stemmed from the arrival of Lindir's family had died down.

At first, all that he had noticed was that there was a new and rather attractive odds-jobs servant in the house and some extra faces amongst the elflings. He had not even guessed that any of the three new children were related to each other, let alone to the cheery cleaner in the faded yellow shirt and brown leggings that mopped and swept his rooms and the porch to his private courtyard every day. That made his bed, plumped up his pillows, kept the lamps topped with oil, and which picked up the clothes that he threw (increasingly purposefully so that he might more frequently admire the curve of Lindir's rear when the elf bent down) onto the floor.

"I do not recognise your face," Glorfindel had said to Lindir that first morning when, after waking, he had risen and on his way to his wash basin, had happened to look out of the open doors to his courtyard and noticed a stranger sweeping the porch. "Are you new?"

"Aye, Your Lordship." The cleaner had smiled hesitantly at him and bowed. On straightening he added in his soft voice, "My name is Lindir."

Glorfindel had nodded slowly, then wished him well and passed on to his wash basin. On his return across the room, however, he had stopped again. Not to speak to the elf, but simply to observe him. Something about the rather subdued elf had struck him as rather curious, but he could not work out what. So he had scanned the elf's pretty albeit very diminutive figure and the profile of his extremely pretty face. That day, Lindir's long hair had been bundled up behind his head with a large wooden clip. Glorfindel recalled that he had smiled.

How practical, polite, meek, and efficient the elf seemed.

And then Lindir had turned and noticed him eyeing him. And smiled slightly - hesitantly - and nodded his head in silent inquiry. "Your Lordship?"

"It is nothing," Glorfindel had said. "Please return to your work."

Now, under the linden trees in his grandfather's halls, Glorfindel sighed and looked down at the linden petals that lay scattered on the seat on which he sat and the grass about his feet, the yellow petals white in the moonlight. He heard, nearby, a door open and the sound of loud, laughing voices. The sound was jarring. A little irritated, Glorfindel rose and returned to his rooms.

Chapter 13  
Reconciliation  
~ In which Glorfindel reconciles with his son Glingal and recalls a little more about his adopted children: Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden. Also in which Lindir, in the late morning, hears from Silmo that Sauron has, in the courtroom, told the court that Lindir spoke the truth and that he befriended Lindir for the purpose of having access to knowledge and getting close to Celebrimbor. Also in which Linden, for the first time, shares her POV. She is with Laiglas and they have just exited the courtroom and she has just received word from Lindo by way a bird of Eonwe's who is almost at Taniquetil. Linden, concerned about Glorfindel and Glingal, requests Eonwe contact Gloredhel who is still uncontactable and let him know about the trial. Eonwe, moved by her pleas, agrees. Possible Eonwe/Linden? Linden asks Laiglas to apologise to Silmo a second time. Laiglas walks away. Linden calls after him to tell him that Silmo may let them see Lindir if he apologises. Laiglas continues to walk away.

It was now past midnight, but sleep still eluded him and memories of the time when he had first met Lindir still occupied his thoughts. In the darkness of his room, he lay with his arms behind his head, his gaze on the ceiling on which wavered the shadows of the lindens that grew next to his windows, illuminated in moonlight.

After that first encounter with Lindir, he had left his rooms and had neither seen nor addressed the elf until the following morning, when on rising he had observed that Lindir was again in his rooms, and once again, sweeping his porch. Once again, on his way across the room to his wash basin, he had stopped to engage the handsome elf in conversation.

"From what lands do you hail?" he had asked.

"I hail from Mirkwood, Your Lordship," Lindir had replied. "I came here nine years ago."

Glorfindel's brow had creased. He would not have picked the elf as a Wood-Elf of Rhovanion by his accent. He would have marked him as an elf of Lindon and even at that, he would have been uncertain; though Lindir's voice itself was clear and sweet, his accent was very strange - it had a husky, almost guttural sound to it. "To live, I assume?"

"Aye."

"Forgive me, but are you originally from Lindon? Your accent..."

"Ah." Lindir had inclined his head. "You are right. I was born in Lindon."

"But even so, your accent is still strange to my ears. From where do you hail in Mirkwood? What realm?"

Lindir shrugged and smiled slightly, easily. "I have spent time with different peoples of Mirkwood and some of those who come from lands east of the woods. I expect their languages have influenced my pronunciation of my own." He shrugged again and, still smiling charmingly, turned back to his work.

Glorfindel had nodded slowly and, smiling, had wished the elf farewell and then, as he had done the previous day, turned away to walk to his wash basin. And, as he had also done the previous day, on his return across the room, he had stopped to silently admire Lindir at work.

How handsome the elf was. How sweet. How hard he worked; his rooms since he had returned were cleaner than ever he had seen them.  
And as had happened the day before, he had stared too long and too hard for once again, Lindir had turned to look at him. And again, he had nodded his head in silent inquiry and said, "Your Lordship?"

And once again, Glorfindel had said, "It is nothing. Please return to your work." And had turned away.

The sound of the open window shutters tapping suddenly against the frames on which they were folded back, brought his attention back to the room - back to Ingwë’s halls. Glorfindel sat up and watched the boughs of the trees outside blowing in the sudden cold wind that had breathed down from the heights of Taniquetil. He wondered suddenly if Laiglas and Linden had managed to contact Lindir on Taniquetil and then, all of a sudden, his thoughts returned to Glingal and the argument that they had had the previous night.

He ran a hand through his hair - pushing it back - and crawled to the end of his bed to climb off it and make his way out of his rooms and down the deserted passageway to Glingal's rooms.

There, outside the door to his son's rooms, he stopped and hesitated. He could see no light coming from inside the rooms; perhaps Glingal was asleep.

And perhaps not. He opened the door and went inside into the darkened rooms.

The parlour, like the corridor outside, was deserted. On looking about, his hands on his hips, Glorfindel saw that the table had been cleared of the supper over which they had both had their emotional outbursts earlier that night. He swallowed; raised a hand to run it through his hair a second time, and then went over to the bedroom door and lowered the hand to open the door and push it open.

Glingal lay stretched out on his side on his bed, his face pointing away from the door. Glorfindel, thinking him asleep, observed him silently for a few moments, then turned to leave.

"Father?"

"Yes?" Glorfindel turned back to watch Glingal stir and roll over to look at him.

"You cannot sleep either?" Glingal asked. His face was empty of expression: gone were the lines of frustration and fury that had twisted it earlier in the parlour. Now, they were replaced with listlessness - nothingness - a helpless sense of futility.

"Aye." And Glorfindel stepped into the room and went over to the bed to sit down on the side, beside Glingal, who gazed unsmilingly, but not unwelcomingly, up at him from where he lay.

Tonight, Glorfindel knew, would be a long, sleepless night. And he sensed that, on looking at Glingal's face, that his son shared his thoughts. He exhaled and turned his head away.

There was a long pause. Then, suddenly, Glingal's voice broke the silence, his voice soft.

"I wonder," he said, "where Laiglas and Linden are now." He paused, then added, "And for that matter, Lindo."

Glorfindel nodded slowly, his thoughts also turning to his adopted children. And after a time, he suddenly smiled. It had always struck him as ironic that while his first impression of Lindir had been sweetness, his first impression of Laiglas had been the complete opposite.

A day or so after his return to Imladris, he had ventured to Erestor's study to privately greet his colleague and close friend. And there, he had discovered Erestor leading a history class of six youths - all elflings. Erestor, with a enthusiastic smile, had invited him to wait and so Glorfindel had taken up a book from one of Erestor’s many bookshelves, sat at the back of the room, and begun to pretend to read. In actual fact, he was observing both Erestor and his class over the top of the pages. He had had a habit of pulling rude faces at Erestor while the scholar was speaking and trying to distract him. That day, however, he had refrained. Partly because most of the elflings - who were at the older end of the spectrum - looked quite studious and not of the sort to be amused by seeing the lesson interrupted, and partly because of Laiglas.

Laiglas had almost instantly grabbed his attention as soon as he had looked over the top of his book. The reaction that the strange elfling had provoked from him had been so strong that even now, he could recall the emotions that he had felt - see the memory as clear as if it had been yesterday. And even now, it made his stomach curl.

Oh, Laiglas had also captured him because of the elf's unique appearance. The elf had been then as he was now. His tall anorexic body had lain so elegantly across his chosen chair that almost it looked as if he had been draped there. But there was something so cruel, so ruthless, so mirthless and unforgiving in the elf's deathly pale face - that face framed with black tresses braided so tightly and neatly that the elf had looked to Glorfindel not as if he were gazing on a student.

But what exactly he was gazing on, if not a student, he knew not. All he had known was that he had felt sick to his heart at the sight of such bitterness in the face of such youth and had, from that moment until the end of the lesson when Laiglas had finally stalked out, been unable to take his eyes off of the elfling.

"Who was that?" he had asked Erestor as soon as Laiglas, who had been the last of the elflings to exit the room, had left the room.

Erestor had looked at him, then followed his nod to the closed door. "Laiglas? Ah." And the scholar had smiled slightly - ruefully - at him. "He is a strange one."

"The mere sight of him disturbed me. I have never seen such a face!"

If Erestor had registered his attempt to engage him in a discussion of the elfling, the scholar chose to ignore it and changed the subject. And Glorfindel had learned nothing more about the strange elfling that day. And by the time night had arrived, all thought of the elfling had faded from his mind.

Later, when Erestor had finally told him, about Laiglas's family, he had understood the scholar's reason for hesitation.

And now, in the silence of Glingal's room, Glorfindel turned back to look at his youngest son to observe that Glingal was asleep. And suddenly - with that haunting vision of Laiglas in his mind's eye - he felt tears spring to his eyes and a smile come to his lips.

"Elbereth," he breathed as he gazed on Glingal's face. That face so free - so blissfully ignorant - of the suffering of Laiglas's youth. Of what Laiglas knew.

As Glingal stirred, he rose and went over to the free side of the bed. There, he lay down and - after glancing thankfully one last time at Glingal - resumed the struggle to sleep.

~*~

Lindir did not recall having fallen asleep. He did not recall having been tired. He also did not recall having changed into his nightclothes. He also did not recall having made his way to Silmo's bed.

He also, generally, did not tuck himself in under the sheets so neatly and tightly that it was a little struggle to clamber out of bed.

He therefore supposed that he had three options: firstly, his memory was a little mistaken; secondly, that his supper had been drugged and someone had come into the room and tucked him into bed; and thirdly, that someone had enchanted him to sleep by some other unseen means and then come into the room and tucked him into bed.

He also supposed that it was an incident that, judging from recent events, was not something over which he should puzzle too much.

Anyhow, it was dawn and he was hungry. And so, pushing his confusion to the back of his still half-asleep mind, he climbed out of bed and wandered over to the table, which had been set in his absence with a large cover that when lifted, revealed a hearty breakfast. And so he had sat down and started to eat.

As he did so and sluggishness gradually slipped from his mind, he observed that Silmo had not yet returned. And as he finished his meal, he sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and frowned.

Had not the Maia promised him that he would be back before midnight the previous day?

He looked about the room and, on not seeing a note, closed his eyes and summoned the Maia in his mind.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And as the silence extended on and there was still no answer from Silmo, he turned to the cupboard beside the table that was full of food and opened it to find another plate of fudge in there.

And so he took out the plate, put it on the table, and set about reacquainting his tastebuds with the taste of the sweet.

~*~

It had been a few weeks after he had first noticed Laiglas that Erestor had finally decided to trust him with the secrets of the elfling's family. The scholar had, Glorfindel assumed, become tired of Glorfindel's frequent passing references to the elfling and finally cracked from the desire to both rid himself of Glorfindel's nagging and to also confide in a friend.

"Your class was a little smaller today," had been the line that had prompted Erestor to speak to him about Laiglas. Glorfindel had once again come and disturbed the scholar at the end of one of his classes - Erestor had a habit of always taking his classes overtime.

"Yes," Erestor responded after the door closed. "Laiglas has been absent all week so far."

"Oh? What is his excuse?"

Erestor shrugged and walked over to his desk to unlock a drawer and take out a colourless bottle of amber liquid and two cups. After he had filled each with a small nip and slid one of the cups across the table towards Glorfindel, he said, "He came to me last week and asked me if it was true that the next four weeks of classes would not be assessed."

"And are they?"

"No."

When Glorfindel frowned, Erestor frowned back. "It is almost Midsummer!" he said. "They also spent the last two weeks being assessed! And after Midsummer break, they each have to take on an apprenticeship!"

"But Laiglas still has to attend class, does he not?"

Erestor nodded and sipped at his cup, wincing slightly. "It is not my job to physically drag him here, though," he said.

"What about his parents?"

"Parent. Laiglas only has one. But the parent has no control!" Erestor shook his head and downed the rest of the contents of his cup with a gulp. "It is too hard, that family," he said as he lowered the vessel back to his table and sat down in the seat beside it. "There are three children and one adult, all recent arrivals. All former thralls of Dol Guldur."

Glorfindel's eyes widened. "What?"

"It is true. Laiglas was a thrall of that fortress. He was born and raised as a slave for four and score summers."

_So that explained it,_ Glorfindel thought. _That cruel look on Laiglas's face. How much the child must have suffered._

"And it is worse," Erestor continued. "The realm has still not granted them asylum here and as you can see from the son - they are not the most easily befriended characters - so they receive next to no assistance from either the realm or other families."

That had struck Glorfindel as extremely strange. In his experience, the travellers that entered the realm that were in crisis and sound of heart had always been swiftly accepted by the majority of the community – especially families. But then again, real former thralls were exceedingly rare in the sort of crisis travellers that turned up on their borders and usually so strange in mind that they were often turned away. "That seems strange; why have they not been gifted with asylum? Is there something suspicious about them?"

"Elrond seems to have some doubts about them and of course, there are those conservatives who seem to have lost their ethics in their scramble to be on that council." Erestor sighed. "I do not know. But what I do know is that it is a near miracle that Laiglas is still the top student in his class. This is in spite of the fact that he sometimes fails to do his homework." He smiled slightly - resignedly - at Glorfindel. "His siblings are younger than him and as his parent works most of the day and night and at strange hours, Laiglas is arguably the sole carer for them."

"Good Valar!"

"He is quite amazing academically, in spite of his unpleasant manner, that child," Erestor said.

"And dedicated to his family." Glorfindel added.

"Mm." Erestor shrugged slightly and leaned forward in his seat. "Well, I have not chosen not to report Laiglas's absence to Elrond for this month. Although I was harsh to him when he came to me - and he was harsh to me in response as is his habit, I think he will use his free hours wisely. Indeed, I heard only at lunch today that there is talk that Laiglas had been seen working in the stables this morning - I will check on him tomorrow, I think, and offer him some work with me. I do not like him, but I do respect him and he has too brilliant a mind to waste on horses."

Glorfindel had not and still did not particularly agree with this statement. As a youth he had always preferred spending time outside in his father's stables to spending time inside with his tutors and he would have been near ecstatic if he had been paid for doing so as well, not that his household had ever wanted for money. To please Erestor, though, he nodded.

"And even if the talk is untrue," Erestor added, "I think a little time for himself would do the child well. Perhaps it might even put a smile on his face and civility in his mouth when he deals with those outside his family."

"Is he a bad influence on his peers?"

"No. They mostly avoid him; probably spurred on by their own parents' disapproval of Laiglas's family. I feared a little that they might try to imitate Laiglas and also avoid class, but thankfully, none of them have tried to do so or even mention Laiglas's absence to me."

"How old are Laiglas's siblings?"

"Laiglas is now fourteen and score so... the other would be nine and twelve."

"Only three summers between the others?"

Erestor nodded slightly, unsmiling. "Aye." And Glorfindel, who had already guessed from the moment that he had heard that the family were former thralls that the parents could only have had the cruellest of reasons for choosing to have their children at such a time, decided that though he was curious to know why, he had no wish to learn more at this time, at least not when it was so close to afternoon tea. So instead he requested that Erestor send down to the kitchens so that they might talk about lighter matters over tea and cake.

But Erestor surprised him. "No," the elf said, "let us, rather than send down for tea, venture down to the kitchen ourselves. There is something I would like to show you." And he rose and turned and walked over to the door, which he opened and held open for him. Mystified, Glorfindel followed him out and down the outside passageway to an alcove that overlooked one of the courtyards a little way away from the greensward on which supper would begin to be served at sunset in a few hours.

"Behold," Erestor said, nodding down at one of the sheltered walkways that lined the courtyard. There were a few benches there beneath the eaves and Glorfindel's brow knitted when he recognised Laiglas seated on one of them. The tall youth sat with his back against the column at one end of the bench, his arms around his knees.

"What is he doing?"

"You will see," Erestor replied, dropping gracefully onto the window seat beneath the window. Glorfindel sat down beside him.

A few minutes later, some kitchen hands came out of the building and entered the courtyard, carrying folded tables and chairs that were evidently intended for supper on the greensward later. Glorfindel saw one of the elves walk over to Laiglas and hand the elf a large covered basket, which Laiglas set beside him with words of thanks to the deliverer.

"Their supper," Erestor commented.

"Their?"

"Continue watching. The nursery should release the youngest soon."

A few minutes passed and then, suddenly, a nurse arrived from another part of the courtyard, a small toddler with chestnut tresses hanging onto her hand. She called out to Laiglas who, on noticing them, stood up and hurried over to relieve the nurse of the tiny child, which he lifted in his arms and embraced with a wide smile.

"A brunette?" Glorfindel looked between Laiglas's black braids and the toddler's brown locks.

"They are all half-siblings," Erestor said. "Ah. And here comes the last one - the middle child. Unexpectedly early."

Another brunette, a small boy this time, suddenly ran up from the direction of the greensward, an apple in his hand and a wide grin on his face. He nipped over to the bench, fixed his apple in his mouth, and seized the basket before walking... or rather, struggling, with the basket over to Laiglas who settled the tiny toddler on his hip before reaching down with his free arm to take the basket from his almost as tiny brother. Then Laiglas turned and walked back into the building, his brother following close behind and kicking a pebble across the courtyard.

"What of the parent?" Glorfindel asked, looking back at Erestor. "Working, as you said?"

Erestor absently nodded, his gaze fixed on the children.

"You know, I do not believe I have ever felt as disappointed in Imladris's laws as I do now about their assistance to those so obviously in crisis," Glorfindel said. "If Elrond doubts these former thralls so much, why has he allowed them to live in the realm?"

"Well," Erestor said, with another shrug, "according to the laws regarding former thralls and their subsequent inherent risk - especially for those from Dol Guldur, they really should not be in Imladris. Unofficially, they should never have been admitted! Most of the council believes that we should send them to Thranduil in Mirkwood. That or Woodhall. But Northern Mirkwood is the best realm because they are more used to receiving escapees and have programs in place to deal with them. We have none."

"So what is forcing the council's hand and pressing them to keep them?"

"Mithrandir."

"Oh." Glorfindel considered this for a moment, then frowned. "So what interest does he have in them?"

"None, as far as I know, save that he found them there when he, as you already know, ventured there and met the dwarf with the..." Erestor shot him a significant look and waved the fingers of his right hand. Glorfindel nodded. "He brought them back here and in short, requested expressly of Elrond that the family be allowed to settle in Imladris."

"So Elrond did not consider Mithrandir's faith in the family enough proof of their trustworthiness?"

"Apparently so."

Glorfindel nodded slowly.

"And this is why the family is still not accepted in Imladris and they must eat alone. This is also partly why, I believe, Laiglas behaves so coldly; it is because he is already treated coldly by the majority of the residents here."

"But not by you."

"Aye. Not I." Erestor smiled suddenly - distantly - and on seeing that smile, Glorfindel own responding smile quickly faded.

"May I assume, then," Glorfindel said, "that as soon as Mithrandir removes his claim of faith in the family, that Elrond may dismiss them? After nine years?"

Erestor snorted. "After nine years, he could... and yet not." The scholar's smile soured. "You see, the toddler was born in Imladris and ever since she first visited the nursery, I have heard hushed talk that if the family leaves, that the daughter must be fostered out to a family here." He laughed sourly. "They think the rest of the family is a bad influence."

"I see."

There was a pause and then Erestor had risen and looked down at him. "Well, after that rather bleak conversation, should we venture down to find ourselves something light and sweet and edible to cheer us both up?"

Glorfindel had laughed and risen and together they had continued to make their way through the house to the kitchens.

~*~

Silmo was still not back. Lindir licked his fingers clean, then rose and began to stack the cleared dishes on the table.

And that was when it happened. Quite suddenly and without any warning at all, he felt something inside him - deep inside his abdomen - move. He stiffened, inhaling sharply, eyes widening in alarm.

Over the last few weeks, ever since Silmo had inserted that diaphragm inside of him, he had felt almost no movement at all from the creature that lay inside him - knitted to his flesh. That tentacled abomination that lived as part of the alien womb that it had sewn together and constructed from the flesh of his body. But now he did feel it. It was contracting, sliding, moving, he could feel something stretching against his passage, pushing against the walls from outside the walls, yet still inside his body. Insistently. Painfully.

And then, suddenly, he felt something slide out of his entrance - something hot and sticky and very wet. He looked down and with trembling hands pulled up his nightshirt to yank loose the material of his loincloth.

The diaphragm fell with a soft sound onto the floorboards whereupon it bounced away and disappeared under the bed. On the spot where it had initially landed, great transparent globules - slimy in consistency - now dripped from long tendrils that appeared to have gathered at his entrance. He had little time to examine it, however, for moments later, he gasped and almost collapsed onto the table when he felt something fill his passageway - assaulting him to almost breaking point - and not from outside his entrance, but from within.

And then it began thrust within him. It's thick walls elongating as it worked - filling him beyond what he had ever felt with Glorfindel; beyond what his body recalled of its times under Sauron's instruction. He staggered, eyes wide, breathing ragged, his face a mask of incredulous pain and pleasure.

And then he did collapse. First onto his hands and knees, onto the hard floor where his fingers and wrists and calves and the ends of his trailing hair coiled into and became covered with the blood-stained slime. Then, at another thrust, his arms gave way and with a choked cry, he fell flat onto his face to sprawl on the floor, his hardness singing as it drove at the nightshirt against the floorboards, seeping burning white liquid to mingle with the puddles already drying on the wood.

~*~

Chapter 14

How long he had been lying there, with that dreadful thing driving inside of him, he did not know. Perhaps he had passed out from the pain of his own flesh breaking under the strain. In his mind, attempts to grasp the reasons behind why the creature seemed to have, so suddenly, turned mad upon him, came only vaguely. Fragments of what he knew - of what he felt intrinsically he should know - came like flashes to him; too fleeting and his mind too frightened at the implications - even now - to attempt to catch them. His memory was still not complete; he still, apparently, needed Silmo's help to divine the hideous depths that lay within the shunned crevasses of his mind.

He heard cries of pain. Dimly he recognised that they were his own. But perhaps not. They seemed so far removed from what he recalled of his voice. Such an alien sound! Or perhaps they were familiar, but seemed strange only because he wished them so. In his mind, he now saw a flash that lingered longer than the rest. And for that moment he recalled rows upon rows of silent, distorted, mutilated bodies in a vast cold hall of stone. They lay upon tables made of the same black glistening rock. In all positions: side, back, front. Humans, mostly, from what was left of them. Males. He would have thought them all dead save for the occasional moan; the occasional movement of a limb or, more ominously, the shifting of something living within a far too swollen abdomen. At the end of a row, there was a dead human; a body that had been slashed open from chest to crotch, the head unrecognisably distorted from unknown abuses to the skull and eyeless face. But the body, though the blood had long dried and been cleared up, was still warm. As Lindir neared, he could see something moving inside the gaping abdomen. He wanted to step away, his stomach hurled, but his memory urged him closer, urged him right to the side of that horrific sight. Right up until he could see the exposed yellow fat and pink and mottled flesh and the dark red blood that swirled in swallowing pools around the head of that hideous white creature and the disfigured fetus around which its tentacled legs had curled in a repulsive yet tender embrace.

"LINDIR!" And then suddenly the image flooded away, like the wave retreating from a shore. He felt arms around him: Laiglas was here and from the sounds of the voices, Silmo and another had come too.

Laiglas lifted him by his arms, calling for the rest, when they tried to help, to keep their hands away from his middle and crotch. Their hands fell away and they let Laiglas do the task alone. Lindir could feel the others' helplessness.

He did not know where Laiglas was taking him, but he soon found out when all of a sudden, warm bath water enveloped his shuddering body. It was a relief like nothing he had known; all of a sudden, the strain became less terrible; no longer such agony. He opened his eyes and found Laiglas and Silmo and Linden gazing back at him. Laiglas crouched before him at the edge of their bath, his eyes level with his, his hands tightly gripping Lindir's arms.

"Keep a tight hold of the bath edge," his son told him. "If you lose your balance and it overcomes you, as it may well soon, you may drown."

How, Lindir wondered, did Laiglas know this? What was it that Laiglas remembered from their times as thralls of Sauron, that he did not? Why was it that Laiglas had not spurned his memories and instead embraced them? Such painful memories! He heard himself draw in a ragged, choking, moaning breath. Felt hot salty tears creeping down his face. Laiglas cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. Not on the brow or on his cheeks, but on his lips: a lingering surface kiss. It felt like the cool breath of Arda had felt on his face when he had first stepped out of Dol Guldur on that cold grey morning when the rest of Mithrandir's party had been asleep and only he and Laiglas had been there to observe the sunrise. Their first sunrise: for him, for many years; for Laiglas, for the first time in the child's life. Yet the sight had daunted neither of them; standing there, with the wind blowing in their faces and their hands clutching each other's tightly, he had only felt hope and gladness and love.

He felt that now and re-energised, he whispered, "What are you going to do? What is happening?"

Laiglas kissed his brow now, patted his hands on the side of the bath in silent reminder of his earlier instruction, and rose to look at Silmo and Linden. "Linden, watch Lindir and ensure that he does not lose hold of the side of the bath. Silmo. Take me to my father."

"Your..." Silmo hesitated. Linden too halted to stare strangely at her brother.

"Sauron." Laiglas said. "I need one of his creatures; we need to mate them."

There was a pause and then Silmo frowned. "But-but the one inside him was mated the day after he was given it."

"And now it is time again," Laiglas said quietly. "And it has been long delayed. If you do not help him, then the creature will go mad and break free; if it does this, Lindir will die."

His words were like a wash of clarity over Lindir's mind. The meaning of the kiss returned to him many memories of what he had forgotten, not only inside Sauron's lairs, but also from after his escape. When he had not died then. When in Imladris, he had not died even when he had spent years without the mating until Elrond had finally found and removed the creature that had been part of him then and almost all of the flesh and organs that it had created and changed inside of him. All that Laiglas had done for him.

"Hurry up!" Laiglas said sharply to Silmo. "You will lose your witness if you do not take responsibility for what you have done to him. The water will not appease it long."

Silmo gazed at Laiglas for a long time. Finally the Maia nodded, his face grave. "Follow me." They swept out of the room. Linden came over then to hold Lindir's hands.

~*~

How, Glorfindel wondered to himself as he lay in Glingal's bed, watching the morning sunshine play with the shadows across the ceiling, had he come to approach Lindir as a lover? What had been the impetus to provoke him first to amorous thought of the elf, then to action? He recalled that it had not been a choice that he had made lightly. He keenly recalled questioning the elf as to whether he was married - for some married elves, especially foreigners, did not wear rings and then on finding the answer he wished, trying to work out the elf's feelings towards his own sex and towards him in particular. Monitoring the nature of Lindir's casual glances towards him in the morning became his hobby, as did teasing the elf with purposeful poses in various stages of undress.

Perhaps it had been his notice of Lindir's glances towards him that had made him first aware of the elf in such a way. But the elf, he had known, could have been watching him for a variety of reasons. He, Glorfindel, was rich as well as handsome, after all, and he had a past that prompted even the youngest of elflings, who cared less for beauty for amorous purposes, to turn and stare and point at him.

So that was why he investigated the looks that Lindir sent his way.

It never occurred to him, until much later, that Lindir might have been watching him because he was frightened of him, as he was frightened of all of the elves in Imladris, but especially him. He was the captain of the guard. He was strong. He was known to not have second thoughts when he, on the rare occasion, became violent. He was not known for his patience.

So in hindsight, after he had known of Lindir’s past as a thrall, it had made very great sense that Lindir had been watching him. At the time, though, he only thought of it as a sort of compliment, and became both frustrated and delightedly challenged in the puzzle of the elf's heart and taste on lovers. Could he bed him? Could he not? Would that meek mask remain should he take the elf to bed? He fantasised that the elf might suddenly become a nymphet of lechery between his sheets.

One day, tired of their seemingly endless shallow chatter about the weather and their health, and on returning to his rooms early in the morning to find his bed sheets freshly changed and smelling so inviting that he thought it a shame to waste them on only himself, he decided that action was more eloquent. So he waited until Lindir came in from the porch to wash his hands and then pounced, cornering the small elf between the basin and his own body.

He remembered that Lindir had not said anything, only swallowed and looked down and looked meek, as was his wont. So he, Glorfindel, had bent his head and kissed him. "Stay with me," he had told the silent elf as he had slid his arms around the tiny warm body. "Stay with me this morn; I will take care of your other duties." He had kissed him again, trailing kisses now down the elf's throat and raising one hand to pluck at the buttons of the elf's shirt. Lindir's breath had been sharp and sweet against his face. The elf had already been aroused, from what Glorfindel swiftly gathered when he dared to touch his palm against the other's groin. In that he had had his answer. Or so he had thought...

Moments after the intimate touch, Lindir had turned violently away, using the back of his body as a barrier between them, though Glorfindel would have gladly worked at such a wall. Glorfindel had sensed his distress and so, courteous and disappointed, had let him flee and anticipated that the elf would not return to his rooms ever again. Perhaps, he had even thought, he had made an enemy and would face Elrond before the end of the day, accused of sexual assault.

But the following day, at the same time as ever, the cleaner that opened the panel door and crept into the room with his buckets and broom and brushes and mops was once again, Lindir.

~*~

Linden's hands were cool and firm - a delight to his flushed and sweating skin. She breathed words of comfort, words that Lindir reflected she had learnt from him and passed on to her own half-sibling, Glingal, when the boy had been of tender age. She frequently reached up to tuck his tangled, tainted hair back behind his ears. Lindir felt, from the tightness of her lips, and her hesitance in tugging on his hair, that she was more concerned about him than he was himself and he suddenly felt the urge to reassure her.

"I does not hurt so much now," he told her.

She said nothing and did not meet his gaze; the tightness in her pursed lips only drew thinner as her mouth stretched wider. Lindir noticed then that her hair had darkened in colour - darkened so much that it was now black; was the same colour as Laiglas's tresses. His brow knitted. So it was as he had feared.

"You changed your hair colour," he said after a long pause. "It suits you." His voice sounded halting in the steaming air.

That brought her attention; this time her eyes flitted to meet his and her smile trembled slightly. "Laiglas thought it was time," she said softly.

He nodded slightly, eyes scanning the silken soft locks puddling about her proud shoulders before falling to unseen depths past the rim of the bath, suppressing a wince when he felt the creature jerk inside him; pulling at some unknown organ. She blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering long and dark, momentarily brushing the now unnaturally pale skin of her cheeks, and turned her head away to look at the window yawning the stark blue of early morning. She seemed in that moment proud and dark and fey beyond the feyness of elves - wild as he had never known her. He swallowed suddenly: deeply, compulsively. Tears sprung to his eyes. She already seemed strange to him, as if in a blink of an eye she might cast away his hands in indifference and rise to pass from his sight - to wander into the wildness unknown to his own kind, never to return. He clutched tighter at her hands. She did not appear to notice; her expression looked elsewhere.

_Laiglas thought it was time_? What did it mean? If Linden was as Laiglas; as Maian as her brother, then what of Lindo? He swallowed again. What did this mean? That all his children were Sauron's? Why the black hair if not? Where lay their sympathies? Were they truly his children? He felt dizzy. Why was he so confused now? It had all seemed so clear, so sure. Before. Now he was not so sure.

_What is wrong with me? I have been isolated from Elvenhome for less than a day, less than before, and already my mind is leaving me!_ He grappled spasmodically at the side of the bathtub, his thoughts a blur. The flashes were returning to him; flashes of memories that made his stomach curl with repulsion, made his head swirl even more with the pain. He regretted having ever agreed to Sauron's bargain. He should never have come here! He looked at the door, his mouth open in a twisted frenzied, frozen expression of panic. _Where is Glorfindel? Oh Valar, where is he? Where is he? Where is he?_ The creature twisted inside of him; coiling over itself and twisting his flesh as it did so. He choked.

"Breathe," Linden said suddenly, her voice soft and calm. "I have you. Relax." And then she was looking at him and suddenly he felt reassured. He was not crazed. He was not mad. Not yet. Her eyes held understanding and compassion for him; her attention was here and now and she was not about to leave him. She leaned forward and kissed his brow gently. Her lips felt cool and soft. "They will be back soon," she reassured. "Laiglas seems to know what to do so stay with me and let us wait for him."

He nodded hesitantly, not really reassured and yet knowing that he had no choice so there was nothing for him to do except hope that Laiglas knew what he was doing and that the half-elf could handle his first meeting with Sauron in so long a time. How long it must have been for his son. Lindir wondered what Laiglas expected to see from his father and if these impressions were realistic or false. If Laiglas was being disappointed or surprised.

All of a sudden they heard footsteps and then a white-faced Laiglas burst through the door, followed closely by Silmo. In Laiglas's hands was a large transparent jar like those that Lindir had seen on the hidden shelves in Sauron’s rooms weeks earlier; its contents containing yet another of the strange white tentacled creatures floating in the slightly tinted liquid. It looked sluggish and so, in spite of its large size, looked relatively harmless, but when Laiglas undid the top of the jar and, his face very tight, unceremoniously tipped its contents into the bath water, this calmness left it. All of a sudden it seemed to seize up and enter into a frenzied panic, began to thrash about as if in agony and then proceed to wildly dart without any discernible sense of direction in a zigzag pattern through the water. Lindir wondered if the water were too hot for it or if there was some element in the water that was strange to it.

But eventually, to his relief, it settled, near to one corner of the bath and out of the current of the water, and seemed to calm.

Laiglas sighed in relief then and reached out to take Lindir's hands from Linden who relinquished her grasp of them silently. "Come," he said. "Come, it is now or never; before it tries to disappear down the drain." And Lindir allowed himself to be led to the creature.

It did not seem affected by his presence, not even when they were almost touching, so Lindir took one of his hands from Laiglas's grip and reached down and hesitantly stroked its smooth silken head. That seemed to arouse it and Lindir swallowed as he felt its arms gently slither up his hand and forearm in an almost loving touch. It was not at all unpleasant and after a short time he grew more confident and edged his whole hand beneath the creature so that its weight finally sat on his palm. Then he slowly drew it towards his slightly bleeding entrance and held it there, swallowing again when he felt its curious touch turn towards investigating this new area of him.

As it latched onto his passage and the need of the creature within him and began to respond to its calls by gently thrusting into his entrance to unite with the embedded one, Laiglas reached down and relieved him of the task of keeping the creature’s body steady. "Let me hold it steady," his son urged him in his steady voice. "You concentrate on staying conscious and with us. The rest of you..." and now he was addressing the two other spectators, "...please leave us alone. I know what to do now."

~*~

Glorfindel's second attempt to approach Lindir was on the very next day after the first attempt. It involved even fewer words. This time he had once again approached the elf when Lindir had been washing his hands. He had assumed, on seeing the elf back in his rooms at all, that it had been the elf's fright at his boldness that had caused him to flee. But now the elf had the benefit of experience and expectation behind him. Now, if Lindir ran, he would know that either the elf was playing with him or he genuinely did not like his attentions. To determine this, he kept an eye out for any coy behaviour. But as it turned out, an eye towards a rejection on this occasion was unnecessary.

This was because Lindir did not refuse him this time. The elf had only accepted his kisses and returned them with gentle passion and like on the previous day, had been aroused by his ministrations. It also seemed, by the time that they reached his bed, that though the elf was perhaps strange to gentle love play, Lindir was no stranger to the sensations of his body or coupling. Perhaps then, the elf was as he was; was free in his body towards partners. Promiscuous as was Elrond's classification towards his own habits in love.

After a not unpleasant session, Glorfindel had been a little surprised that Lindir had not wished to talk to him. For some reason, he had rather thought that coupling would have relaxed the elf and emboldened him towards him. After all, this was not a business arrangement.

But then again, he reasoned to himself, lying there with Lindir beside him on the coverlets, the elf's head on his outspread arm, the elf was not new to lovers. Why, Lindir might have even had more lovers than him! So why should the elf feel keenly that clinging desire for a closer relationship? And yet, in Glorfindel's experience, even with his most experienced partners, his relationship with them - especially when they were both males - always improved dramatically after their coupling. They wanted to know him after the act.

But not so, apparently, with Lindir. The elf just lay there beside him, warm and close and yet as distant as if they had never met or made love. Glorfindel felt that the elf's thoughts were elsewhere; beyond the confines of the beautiful walls of his bedroom that were glowing butterscotch in the rich morning light. He gazed at the ceiling, enjoying the cool breeze from the open doors to courtyard that was brushing his naked bodies, and his thoughts turned to the possible reasons for Lindir's silence. Indeed, save for the gasps and cries that the elf had made from the glorious sensations of the event, the servant had only spoken once. It had been a request for Glorfindel to withdraw before releasing in him. This, Glorfindel had not done.

Judging that it was the only thing that Lindir had said, Glorfindel, after a time, decided that though Lindir had not raised the issue again, perhaps he had better explain himself. Perhaps the elf was finicky about something in that area of his body.

"I do not know how much experience you have had topping your lovers," he said gently, bending the arm beneath Lindir's head to run his fingers over Lindir's smooth, still forehead. "But with regards to withdrawing before release, not even all of Morgoth's forces could drag my rear end in that direction at that sort of time."

He sensed Lindir smile slightly then and he smiled himself. So he had amused the elf. Genuinely amused him for the first time. This pleased him. He turned his head and kissed Lindir's head. "I enjoyed that," he said.

Lindir stirred then to speak for the second time that morning. "As did I," he said softly. But though his soft tone told Glorfindel that he was most likely speaking the truth, the elf did not turn into his embrace.

Glorfindel tried to prompt him again. "Who was your first lover?"

"I do not remember." Lindir did not address him formally; Glorfindel had asked him when he had spoken the first time to him that morning to call him by his informal name and to do so from then on.

Glorfindel chuckled softly. "Come, come. We all remember our first time. Our first lover."

Lindir exhaled. "I should return to my duties." But he did not move to rise; indeed, he could not with Glorfindel's hand on his brow and Glorfindel's lips again kissing his head.  
"Nay, stay with me a little longer; let us talk," Glorfindel urged. "I shall excuse you for the rest of the morning. And now answer my question, I beg of you."

"My first lover..." Lindir paused as if to consider his next words, "...did not love me," he finished. There was a note of sadness about his voice.

"But your first time? Was that with the lover of which you speak?"

"Nay. I do not wish to speak of my first time; it hurt me."

Glorfindel, on hearing the listless, unhappy tone in the younger's voice, pursed his lips and decided not to press the issue. There was something about the way Lindir had said the word "hurt" that had told him that Lindir was not talking about a hurt that was swiftly healed, but about being deeply physically and psychologically hurt during the act. He waited for a few moments, expecting the elf to return the question to him and invite him to speak on his first time, but Lindir did not do so. So instead he sighed and kissed Lindir's head again before rolling onto his side and resuming kissing the elf in anticipation of another session. He kept his touches less forceful this time; Lindir seemed not to mind duress, but the hurt that he had heard in the elf's voice had made him feel all of a sudden that he should treat this particular lover more tenderly than was his wont.

Lindir, once again, gently received and returned his careful ministrations.

_To Be Continued_

Chapter 15

Afterwards, Laiglas had released the creature back into the water, took him again by his arms, and helped him out of the bath, wrapping his soaked body in a soft robe as he did so. He was humming softly, a lullaby that Lindir recalled having sung to him when he had been the helpful and Laiglas the helpless. That had been a such a long time ago. He bent into his son's embrace when Laiglas lifted him and carried him into the bedroom to lay him down on the bed. "Try to sleep," Laiglas told him with a smile that made Lindir marvel at its gentleness; how long had it been since he had seen such softness in Laiglas? After clutching his hands briefly, Laiglas turned and went back into the bathroom. Then he was alone with Linden and Silmo who were sitting at the table near the window and silently watching him.

"How do you feel?" Silmo ventured, rising now. "Better?"

Lindir nodded, closing his eyes sharply when he felt a sudden dizziness come over him. "I am tired," he said to Silmo's subsequent worried look. "Please let me sleep."

Silmo nodded, swallowed, and moved to head into the bathroom to join Laiglas. From the sounds of splashing, Lindir presumed that they were trying to dispose of or collect the sated creature from the waters. He curled onto his side, facing the steaming room, to observe them, smiling slightly when he heard Laiglas ordering Silmo to get into the water to fetch it.

"Why me?" Silmo protested, his young voice rising to a squeak and making him suddenly sound far from the staid professional that he made himself out to be at most times. "I am not wet! You should get in there!"

"Aye, but if I climb in there, it will attack me," Laiglas said, sounded irritated. "At least with you, there is no entrance for it to..."

"What do you mean there is no entrance?"

"Well, you could close it up; you are a Maia, are you not?"

"Aye, but it - it is not that easy!"

"Nay, then you would rather have it live in the bath until it dies? I do not know what to feed it."

"Will it die? Can we not leave it in there? It has shown that it will not harm Lindir."

There was a short silence. Then Laiglas said slowly, disbelievingly. "You are serious?"

"Well, aye. It will not die, will it?"

"My faith in the Ainur has suddenly spiralled to all new lows," Laiglas said then, in a low and tired sort of voice. "They are creatures born of the children of Iluvatar and the beasts of Arda; they are not Ainur. If they were, then they would have no interest in parasitising the children in order to survive; they would have no need of us to survive at all! Is this clear?"

"I... suppose." Silmo sounded doubtful. Lindir supposed that perhaps the Maia had not understood because the study of living creatures was not his area of expertise. Silmo was a servant of the Lorien, the Lord of Dreams, not of Lady Yavanna. "You take the jar," he said then. There was the sounds of splashing and then a grunt, a plopping noise as something slid into the jar, and then more splashing. "I will take it back; please stay with Lindir."

"That goes without saying," Laiglas replied. Then they both came out from the bathroom, Silmo with the jar in his arms. He bid them farewell and then left the room. Laiglas came over to sit beside Lindir on the edge of the bed. He reached over and ran a hand across Lindir's brow, his gentle smile back again. Lindir smiled back.

"How do you feel?" Laiglas asked softly, now running the hand through Lindir's damp hair. "Are you still bleeding?"

Lindir shook his head. Everything had healed during and after the end of the act. Once the parasite's desire to flee him had been quelled, the creature had itself repaired the torn body of its host. He swallowed. "I am feeling much better; only tired," he said. He raised his hand to clasp the one on his head. "Did you see him?" he asked.

Laiglas's smile faded at that. He nodded slightly, faintly . "He has not changed," he said. "He does not behave as though he is imprisoned, but rather as if he has voluntarily chosen to reside there."

"Did he hinder your attempts to take the creature?"

"Nay. He helped to choose one for you; indeed, he seemed to be expecting us."

Lindir smiled at that. "I rather thought he might; he knows his creations too well to be surprised by them now."

"Indeed." Laiglas smiled back at him and bent his head to kiss him on the lips once more, as he had done earlier when Lindir had been in the bath. The intimate tone of the touch now, however, even though it went no further than lips, sent a prickle of unease down Lindir's spine. He was reminded of a closeness between them that Laiglas had not breached for a very long time. Not since a time that he would rather not remember. This unease increased sharply when he felt Laiglas's hand slip between the folds of his robe to descend, caressing damp skin, to stroke over his erection. He swallowed, tensing now. Laiglas sensed his distress and his eyes suddenly grew more distant. He withdrew his hand. Across the room, Linden rose, her eyes gazing warily at Laiglas.

Laiglas did not appear to have noticed his sister's reaction, his gaze still fixed on Lindir. "You should be milked before you sleep," he said softly. "You will sleep badly if you do not."

Lindir nodded. "I know." At the moment, he did not care. He just wanted Laiglas to keep his hands to himself.

"I love you," Laiglas added.

Lindir swallowed and nodded again. "I love you too."

Laiglas gazed at him a few moments longer, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded curtly and rose and turned to walk over to the table. "Sit down," he told his sister, who swallowed and obeyed, still gazing strangely at him. Lindir rolled onto his other side to stare at the other side of the bed, which was vacant, and wondered when Silmo would return. Oh, where is Glorfindel? he wondered.

~*~

When breakfast arrived in Glingal's rooms, delivered there on Glingal's request, Glorfindel discovered that he had no appetite to attempt to eat his portion of the two servings that were placed on the table in the parlour. So instead he retired back to the bedroom and sat down on an easy chair near the window. After a while, growing restless, he went back into the parlour and made his way to the bureau, which he opened to take out writing paper, pen, and a bottle of dark ink. He sat down and began to write an apology to Ecthelion for their rudeness in leaving him so suddenly and without explanation the previous evening.

But what to write? How to explain the strangeness of his adopted childrens' behaviour towards Glingal and himself? What would Ecthelion think should he tell him that they had fled him to venture up the mountain alone? He wetted the nib of the pen and held it aloft before the paper, but did not lower it to write. He wondered what Lindir would do in this sort of situation and this thought in itself made him even more frustration.

"Be honest," the elf would always say to him. "It is easier to deal with such issues when they are small and every member is trusted, than later when all are exposed liars and the problems a quest even in thought."

But what of you? he found himself thinking. How honest have you been with me, Lindir? Why, it is as you said - this ordeal of mine now, in the face of your desire to not be truthful and frank with me, is surely the hardest quest I have ever had to face!

He leaned the elbow of his free arm on the writing top and rested his cheek on the palm. What could he do? What was passing on the summit of Taniquetil? Was the court in session? Was Lindir safe and well? Was he unwell?

Before now, there had only been one serious time in which Lindir had hidden the truth from him. That had been between their first time together as lovers and the moment that Elrond had told him the news. But nay! Nay, it had not even been that time. Lindir's first masked truth to him had come on the day that the elf had told him that he was unmarried. For though the elf undoubtedly was unmarried, that Lindir had hidden the fact of his children from him was certainly no accidental oversight of the elf's when he had answered that question.

But unlike with now, these offences were far from serious. He knew that Lindir had been afraid of him then. He knew that Lindir had been afraid of what might have been thought of him and the questions that could have stemmed from such a confession that spoke of such a taboo subject: children without a spouse. As with sexual preference, these rules of custom were not lightly dismissed by the majority of elves and one of Lindir's low status could ill afford to alude to living on the wrong side of the margins.

Their sleeping together that morning was not the last time that they slept together before that terrible day of anguish when Elrond came to him. Indeed, even if Lindir had not been so changed and become pregnant with Gloredhel, Glorfindel fancied that they would have continued to have a relationship for many centuries: on and off. Their personalities were comfortable together. They respected one another. They seemed so right for each other and though neither was free of faults: Glorfindel knew he had a rash temper and was uncommonly demanding when it came to satisfying his libido; Lindir was worryingly willing to please and lacked confidence in his own abilities; they loved each other and they were happy to accommodate such annoyances in the wake of their affection.

In the days after their first coupling, they lay together at least a few times a week. Theirs became a casual affair and though Lindir still spoke little to him, Glorfindel had seen no reason in Lindir's physically willing responses to what were always Glorfindel's invitations, to cease what he saw as a very enjoyable sexual relationship. Lindir was not unskilled, there was no uneasy atmosphere between them, and the housekeeper who dealt with Lindir's roster was easily appeased with small favours on Glorfindel's behalf. Money was no issue for him, though even now he kept this fact hidden from his spouse.

And then had come that long unhappy day and night. From the moment he had woken that day, he had known that something was wrong. Lindir was not there and instead another cleaner had replaced him."Where is Lindir?" he had asked of the elf. The other had simply shook their head in honest ignorance and so Glorfindel had let the elf be and put the matter to the back of his mind. Perhaps Lindir was busy with some other matter; some administrative task that he had not mentioned to him as he did not mention anything to him about his personal life. After washing and dressing, he had left the room and went to breakfast.

It had been after breakfast, on his way to the barracks to take a revision class in sparring with some of the residents, that his day had again been upset. For all of a sudden, in a deserted breezeway close to his destination, he had heard the sound of running footsteps behind him and then an elf had skidded to a halt before him. He had just registered that it was Laiglas, that strange youth of Erestor's tutorlage, and that Laiglas's was looking rather white and angry, than the boy - who was almost as tall as him - seized him by his hair and proceeded to strike him in face and stomach with a vicious fury that would have broken his nose had Glorfindel not turned his head. He did not, unfortunately, manage to avoid the knee in his groin, at which point Laiglas released him and spat on him and cursed him in a tongue that scalded him more than the physical blows and added more that he had not been able to comprehend. Then the youth had stalked from him and Glorfindel, after remaining a short time to recover and nurse his bleeding nose, went to cancel his lesson before venturing to Elrond's breakfast room to make a complaint about what he had seen as an unprovoked attack by an obviously deranged boy.

And that had been when the nightmare had started. When Elrond had not looked on him in sympathy but in dismay. That look had told Glorfindel even before the half-elf opened his mouth to speak, that he had indeed done something worthy of such an attack.

~*~

Crystals, bright and sparkling as the stars nestled in the velvet night sky suddenly descended to hang by a silvery thread to halt before his eyes, trembling and twisting and turning. Lindir smiled in delight and, recognising the hand that held them, laughed and looked around in his chair to meet Annatar's smile with his own. "They are beautiful," he said. "Did you make those in our smitheries?"

"Indeed. I made them this week," Annatar said, drawing the shivering jewels back to him and turning to walk towards Erestor's desk. "Is Erestor out?"

"Aye, did you want him? Is it very urgent?" Lindir watched him pocket the sparkling gems in a front pocket of his robes.

"Why?" Annatar said, reaching the end of Erestor's desk, "where is he?" He spun around suddenly to face him, eyes crinkled with mirth, and leaned back onto the table, hands supporting his weight on either side of the wood.

Lindir smiled apologetically. "He is indisposed. His lady is unwell; he is waiting on her bedside."

"Ah! I see." Annatar's smile faded and he was silent a few moments. Then suddenly he smiled again. "So you are all alone?"

"Aye. I have been so for all of this week so far. I cannot do most of Erestor's work, but I have done what I can, which is more than I think he believes I can do," and here he laughed nervously and Annatar chuckled, "and I believe all will be well by time his lady has recovered." He smiled brightly.

Annatar nodded, smiling, and turned to walk around Erestor's desk, his gaze fixed curiously on the papers that Lindir had neatly stacked in various piles for the scholar on his eventual return to work. "No mail?"

"Oh, it is in the basket by the door," Lindir said. He pointed and smiled when Annatar followed his gaze to the tall basket that stood directly behind the door. "I have not sorted through it yet; I will do so later this afternoon when I have finished some more of Erestor's tasks."

"May I help you?"

"Oh? Please, you do not have to be so polite. You are surely busy today?"

"Nay." Annatar said, striding now over to the basket and flipping over the lid to bend down and pick out a few envelopes. "And I have no desire to be down in the smitheries today. I am tired."

"Oh. I heard that there were smiths from Lindon in the realm today."

"Oh, perhaps I will venture to see them later, but I really am very tired and not at all in a mood to entertain the heat and darkness of a smithery," Annatar said. He flashed a smile at Lindir's frowning face. "You look so droll when your brow creases, Lindir. Come, smile again, I bid you."

Lindir obligingly smiled.

"That is better," Annatar said, placing down the letters and walking over to him, a broad smile on his face. "And actually, I have a confession to make to you, my friend. The reason why I am here today is because I wished to visit you today."

"I?"

"Aye, I wished to visit you," Annatar said, halting a foot or so from him and bending his head slightly to look him in the eyes. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the thread of glittering jewels. "This is a necklace and I would that you wear it for me."

"But..." Lindir was silenced when Annatar's face suddenly loomed up to his own and he felt a kiss pressed to his cheek. Then the smith leaned back and straightened and smiled down at him.

"Come, please wear this and consider it a gift from me to you."

"But I have done nothing to deserve such a gift!" Lindir stared between the gems and the smith's face.

"Oh, but you have! Your friendship, your trust, your love... those are precious gems beyond all the jewels in the world. A heart is a far more beautiful gift than a sparkling crystal, my dear."

"I... suppose," Lindir said, and he bent his head and allowed Annatar to clasp the necklace about his throat. Annatar leaned back and smiled broadly at him.

"You look beautiful, as always," he praised. Lindir felt his face infuse with heat. "And now I think you had better venture to the nearest looking-glass to observe your own beauty. You take far too little care of it."

For some reason, against his better judgement, he did as Annatar requested. Perhaps he had been giddy with the joy of such a marvellous gift, the like of which he had never received before then and which he would never receive until Laiglas had said to him, when his toddler son had found him despairing and alone in his cell in Dol Guldur and clung to him with such empathic emotion that had made Lindir vow to never abandon or reject his child ever again, at whatever cost to his own life. Or perhaps the gems really were enchanted to sway him towards Sauron's will. But disregarding the value of love or hidden spells, in terms of mere frivolous jewels, this had indeed been the finest gift that he had ever received in his life. Not even Glorfindel's gifts to him had surpassed this glorious present of stars. He recalled standing there for many long minutes before the looking-glass in the bathroom down the hall, twisting and turning, eyes fixed on his reflection as he marvelled at the crystals and marvelled even more at how well they complimented him.

He wondered what had happened to them. He had lost them when Eregion had been overthrown and he, having been spurned by Elrond's rescue parties as a traitor, stayed behind to be taken captive by orcs. Sauron had returned them to him, slightly mangled, when he had been in Barad-dur. He had kept them near him ever since then, but determinedly abandoned them, partly on Olorin's urging, when he had fled Dol Guldur. For he had ever travelled between the two loathsome places along with Sauron's other favourite servants. Only that last time had he been left behind; it had been too hard for Sauron to move him now that he was with two children and heavy with a third.

When he had returned to the room, Annatar had been standing near the window, his hands behind his back. Lindir had smiled at him and thanked him again and soon after, Annatar had excused himself and left him to his work.

~*~

After Glorfindel had heard Elrond through a few times, long enough to realise that this male pregnancy explanation was no jest on the half-elf's part and long enough to explain his own relationship with Lindir to the lord of Imladris, he finally rose and ventured, "May I see him?"

Elrond had nodded and stood. "Follow me."

Glorfindel had expected Lindir to be in the healing rooms so when he found Elrond leading him in a different direction and instead towards the dormitories in which the majority of the lower-class citizens resided, he was more than a little surprised. "Why is he not in the healing rooms?" he asked.

"Why does he need healing?" Elrond said, looking at him. "As far as I am concerned, there is nothing I can do for him, but I let him have the day off from work."

"Yes, but he is pregnant. He!"

"But not in labour or in danger of miscarrying; he is perfectly well."

"Elrond, he is male and pregnant! He is not well. No male in that condition can be called well!"

Elrond shot him a sharp sidewards glance as they passed an occupied communal room. "Keep your voice down," he said in a low voice. "He is both those things and aye, it is unnatural, but as I said, there is nothing I can do for him. He is in no discomfort save for a slight upset stomach this morning, which is usual in most pregnancies. There is no need to confine him to the healing rooms. As I told you in my study earlier, I have already delivered one of his children. I know what I am doing..." and here he paused and hesitated, then suddenly added, "...well, in truth I do not, but Lindir and his eldest son are familiar with the course of events. They assisted me greatly the first time and it is not all that different from delivering a baby from a female."

Glorfindel scowled. "Except that it is completely different," he said scathingly. "The lad has no womb; nay, not one bit of the necessary equipment to carry a child. I have looked down there, Elrond. How a child can come out of there is beyond me!"

"Oh, believe me he can do it and he will do it if I see no need to cut it out of his abdomen," Elrond said. "As I told you earlier, the entrance that you so kindly decided to investigate with the part of you not in possession of a brain also functions as a birth passage that connects to a very much fertile womb."

Glorfindel swallowed and sighed and put his hands on his hips and glared at a passing dog that came out of a bright yellow door to greet them. It slunk away, its tail between its legs. After a while, he raised one of his hands to run it through his hair, then lowered it to feel his nose to ensure that it was no longer bleeding. "How much further must we travel down this wing?" he asked then as they suddenly turned to head down a narrow curling stairwell and entered a corridor that was significantly more unkept and unwelcoming than the rest. There were stains on the wooden floor and though some of the doors were gayly painted or had little flower wreaths or neat nametags indicating the name of a gardener or a kitchenhand, most of the wooden doors looked faded and warped.

"We are there already," Elrond replied, as he stopped before one of these cheerless doors and knocked on the door. It was opened a few moments later by none other than Laiglas himself, who on seeing Elrond, opened it without a word. His face tightened on seeing Glorfindel and Glorfindel was rather glad that Elrond ushered him in first for he was almost certain that Laiglas was looking to slam the door in his face.

The room, thankfully, looked much less cheerless on the inside than the outside. The walls had been recently whitewashed and the linen on the large bed, in the cot, and on the cushions at the gable window looked freshly mended and cleaned.

The two children that were there looked well turned out, if a little sour and listless in expression on seeing them. This was especially so in Laiglas's case. Lindo, the middle child, looked a little less glum. Both children were clad in blue and white. Lindo was sitting on the bed in the centre of the room beside Lindir who appeared to be trying to teach him how to crochet. On seeing them, Linidr smiled faintly, but his eyes looked hesitant on seeing Glorfindel there.

"Greetings, Lindir," Elrond said as he entered the room and crossed the worn floor to pull up two chairs beside Lindir's side of the bed, waving for the residents to remain at ease. Lindir nodded slightly in greeting, his brow knitting as he looked on Elrond who now appropriated one of the chairs.

"Hail, Your Lordship, and Lord Glorfindel. You honour me."

Elrond, unsmiling, gestured for Glorfindel to sit down in the chair beside him and Glorfindel did so. "I will not meander about my point in being here, Lindir. Glorfindel tells me that he believes he is the father of the child," he said then. "This naturally complicates matters in terms of custody of the child on top of those issues that we discussed earlier about the child automatically becoming a citizen of this realm should he or she be born here."

Glorfindel swallowed. Custody of the child was an issue that had barely entered his mind. On the bed, Lindir nodded, his face paling a little bit.

"For the moment, I do not think Glorfindel has made up his mind with regards to the unborn. Indeed, he has only just now learned of your condition, but he did request to see you," Elrond continued. He looked between them. "Should I leave you both alone?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Please do."

Elrond inclined his head and rose, indicating for the children to follow him, which they did when Lindir nodded - looking rather tight-lipped - at them. Once the door had shut, Lindir looked fearfully back at Glorfindel. Glorfindel did not smile and after a few moments, Lindir, his eyes looking rather larger than usual in his angular face, lowered his face to look at the crochet pieces that lay limply on his lap.

Glorfindel exhaled heavily and leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face with his hands, careful not to irritate his still tender nose. What could he say? What was he supposed to say? He lifted his head and ran his hands through his hair, then plopped his face back into his hands.

After a time he lifted his face again. "Is it mine, then?"

Lindir glanced at him and nodded slightly, his face still very pale. "Aye." His voice was a whisper.

"Are you sure?"

Lindir swallowed and nodded again, more definitely. "Aye, I am sure."

"How sure?"

"You are the only one." Lindir's lips trembled and he looked back down at his hands. As he observed the elf's shoulders begin to shake, Glorfindel hesitated, then shook his head slightly in remonstrance to his own faltering resolve. Comforting the elf could come later, after he had sorted out all this baffling mess.

"Why did you not warn me that you could have children?"

Lindir shook his head.

"Lindir?" Glorfindel's tone was more forceful now.

"I do not... know."

"How can you not know? You have had three children already! How could you not know?"

"I... was not sure. I have never had them from this..." Lindir swallowed spasmodically. His voice choked over the following words, "...from this sort of coupling. I never had them in that manner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I was never... made pregnant... by what we did... for the other ones," Lindir gasped amidst his tears. "I am... sorry! My lord, I am so sorry!" he burst out. "It is my fault, I know that it is my fault. I should have told... told you before we did it, but I was scared and I thought you might already know - I am sorry! So sorry! Believe me! Please believe me!"

Glorfindel ran his hands through his hair again and sighed. He stood up and walked over to the gable window, which he opened a crack to let in some air; it felt cramped in the room. He folded his arms, then raised them to run them through his hair again, then refolded him. Then he put them on his hips. Then he folded them. Then he looked back at Lindir, who was sitting sobbing on the bed, his hands covered his face.

Finally, after a long pause, he stirred and said, "I need time to think about this, Lindir." Then he turned and left the room.

Chapter 16

Do not be curious.

It was a rule that he had learnt early inside the caverns. That time when he had woken and found a shaft of light grazing the cold dark, dark stone cell like a bloody slash across pale skin. It had silhouetted his bent legs; they looked much thinner than he remembered. He rose on the thin mattress and stared at the glowing strip on the dry floor, at the way it embraced and shadowed the hills and valleys in the smooth stones; the way it coursed over the mattress to the opposing, windowless wall.

How long had it been since he had last seen light in this place? His body shivered and after staring at it a few moments longer in the deserted silence, he rose and padded to it.

He half expected the door to slam shut in his face as he reached it, but it did not. Instead, under the weight of his hands the stone shifted soundlessly even more open and soon, on looking back, he found his tiny cheerless cell cast almost entirely in its gaze.

He glanced down the vast desolate stone corridor: first one side, then the other. It was deserted; there was no sound or sensation of someone or something nearby save for the very distant - yet surprisingly welcome - sounds of activity. How long had it been since he had heard a sound that he had not made himself? After gazing a moment longer at the lamp, which was inset in a niche in the opposite wall, he clenched his right hand and rested his left a moment on the jamb.

Then he inhaled sharply and stepped across the threshold to take the leftwards path. His hand slid away. His footfalls soundless on the chill floor.

At the end of the passageway lay another junction. He again turned left, and then, as the dazedness that had overcome him initially began to fade and he thought to himself that he must be in the labyrinths that extended far below the tower's base into the barren, poisoned earth, he began to search for a stairwell that ran upwards or perhaps a window through which he might confirm his suspicions of his location.

No windows were forthcoming, but as he came to the end of this second passageway, he came in sight of stairs at last. They were comfortless and rigid in design, much like the passageways, which were cold and square and naked like his own body was free of cloth and adornments. There was nothing that indicated some sign of their purpose or betrayed some character of their owner.

But perhaps that fact in itself told of its purpose. Told that secret which was no secret of Sauron's personality. That the Maia - perhaps - had no heart, had no comprehension of life beyond that which might be measured, and manipulated, and studied. That the Maia did not, unlike his master before him, see the value of beauty for the sake of beauty. Or love for the sake of love.

Lindir crept up the wide, worn steps. As he did so and ever neared the landing of the upper floor, he grew aware that the sounds of activity that he had heard earlier had come from this floor. Gladdened and terrified at the same time, as he reached the floor and heard approaching footsteps and the low chatter of voices speaking in a jarring indecipherable language, he shrunk back until they had passed.

When they had done so, he slipped up and, legs shaking, hurried down the darkest of the four passageways that yawned before him. The deep shadows that littered it, shadows that had gaped such horrors to him downstairs, were now his refuges from sharp eyes. But as he picked his way down this new corridor, he suddenly realised, as his ears caught the first strains of haggard voices uplifted in despair, that he had made an error in judgement.

For the blanket of night is not something to be feared in itself. The absence of light is not, in of itself, a necessarily evil thing. Rather it is what lurks there in the unseen blackness, what transpires beneath its suffocating shroud, what cruelties that fester in its shuddering wounds, that makes it so fearful. And as Lindir felt his feet deliver him ever closer to those trembling cries and indecipherable pleas; a man? Or was it a woman? The voice had broken so that its sex was beyond recognition. All that remained was the terror, the anguish and grief in such a voice. It chilled his blood, his mind warned him to retreat, and yet he could not. He could not now turn back from that door at the end of the passageway, that door seeped in such shadows as if were not mere darkness that clothed it, but as if it were drenched too. In what, Lindir did not wish to know; yet he knew he would know, for he neared it with every step. Three steps now. Two steps. And now...

And then suddenly a hand whipped tight around his wrist. He span back, eyes wide, his lungs frozen, pale as the grey mists that swathed the tips of Caradhras to stare up at the dark-skinned figure's face. An orc? Nay. But the white robes and restrained expression of the other told him that this was no fellow thrall.

The man gazed back, his eyes beady and black, his lips stretched thin in silent remonstrance. He soundlessly raised his free hand and after holding the index to his lips, beckoned to Lindir with bent fingers before pointing back down the corridor, from where Lindir had come.

Lindir nodded and allowed the man to lead him back to the stairwell and then down one of the brighter passageways. The chill of the floor was numbing his feet so he stepped lighter and gladdened in the warmth of the hand holding his own. He did not know if he could trust the man, if they were friends or enemies, but the contact cheered his heart. So warm.

So real.

The man led him into a small dimly lit room. It reminded him greatly of his own cell save for the handle on the inside of the stone door, which the other, after releasing him, now closed. Inside, it was more cheerful than his own was. Though there were no windows and he could once again hear nothing of what was trespassing beyond the walls, the clothes on the walls, the yellow light that emanated from the lantern hanging from a dangling hook from the ceiling, and the small oddments that lay scattered about a closed box near the head of the bed held comfort, however little.

"Is... this your room?" he ventured. The man nodded as he returned from the door to him. As he neared, he suddenly reached out and cupped Lindir's face in his hands. Lindir felt the fingers graze over his ears, callused and warm and firm. Then he suddenly stepped forward and as Lindir stepped back, he continued to step forward until they were almost at the wall and Lindir realised that he had no where to retreat. He shivered when the man embraced him, his body heat scalding in its sudden touch. Dry lips brushed his forehead, then over his closed eyes, then down to the quivering mouth. When, however, the mouth smear the tears on his cheeks, the man pulled back and stroked his head. Then he resumed kissing him. The rough short hairs at his mouth grazed Lindir's skin. His heat seared him.

He half expected - dreaded what he knew would be rape. What he was certain would be his first time, alone in this room, on a cold, cold bed - or even pressed on a floor or against a wall beneath a crushing loathsome boiling weight. What would likely be his last time too. Humans did not understand these things. What the grief of such a union could do to him.

But yet again he was mistaken. Instead of attempting to force up his legs or turn him around to drive into him, the man took his hand and turned them around so that he was the one beside the wall and Lindir standing as though he had backed him there. Lindir stared, disorientated, baffled, until the man reached out to him and took his chin in his hand. A thumb stroked his lips firmly. Then the hand descended to stroke the veiled organ that lay engorged between his legs.

What was he supposed to say? To protest that he had never done this before? What if the man tried to turn this into a situation any worse than it was for him currently? Reported him? Tortured him? Raped him? Murdered him? He forced his wooden, frozen legs to bend to the floor. He crumpled there a moment, in the periphery of his vision seeing the cloth rising ever higher. Then, pushing all thought from his mind, he surged up to attend to his task. And as his lips met with that taste, he surged up in truth.

Gagging, the contents of his stomach already in his mouth and dripping onto the sheets, he stared wildly - dizzily - about Silmo's room. The sunlight from the window seared his eyes, the sheets and dressing gown were wet and cloying, the sounds of birdcalls outside the windows pained his ears. The furniture, the light, the faces of those around him seemed to be swirling madly. The acid burned his mouth. His back curled and he heaved again.

~*~

There had never been any doubt in Glorfindel's mind about his responsibilities with regards to the child. If it was indeed his, then he was prepared to care for it and raise it, whether with Lindir or on his own.

His relationship with Lindir, however, was another matter entirely.

As he walked in silence with Ecthelion beside the river at the rear of the King's halls, where Lindir had last farewelled him, he looked at the cold waters that coursed and splashed and heaved. He exhaled.

Beside him, Ecthelion glanced sidelong at him. Then he halted and turned to him, wrapped an arm around him, leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You have been troubled in thought ever since we met and ventured on this walk together this morning," he said softly as he released him. "Will you not share your woes with me or at least cast them aside for hope?"

Glorfindel snorted and smiled. "Memories are not something for which one may hold much hope for improvement," he said. They resumed walking. "Nay," he continued, "I was only thinking about when I first came to live with Lindir, after he became pregnant with Gloredhel."

"Was that pregnancy intentional?"

"Nay, it was an accident."

Ecthelion nodded slightly, his expression unsurprised.

They continued walking in silence. And then suddenly Ecthelion ventured, softly, "I wonder if it truly were an accident. Some say that no children are ever born that are not gifts of the Valar or of Ilúvatar the One."

"Even orcs have spirits," Glorfindel said. "Are you saying that the Valar also blessed them with their children? What then of the belief that the Valar are benevolent? For how can anyone who allows the birth of such pitiable, cruel, embittered, crippled creatures with such short and violent and terrible lives be called kind? Nay, I think Ilúvatar and the Valar either play no part in the matter of birth or it is by Ilúvatar's will that such evil festers in this world. For both Morgoth and Sauron came from Ilúvatar. 'Twas Ilúvatar who taught him how to sing so discordantly. 'Twas Ilúvatar who sent them here to make monsters of the children and abandoned us to their whims. And 'tis Ilúvatar who set Morgoth's brother to rule over Arda. However great and virtuous and honourable Manwë, how may I trust a sibling of Morgoth wholeheartedly? To where did he cast Morgoth beyond the confines of this world? Did he even cast him out at all? Who, of any of us, saw it?"

"I would not say those things too loudly, or say them at all. You stand beneath the stand on which Ilúvatar’s voice blesses those who open their ears to listen. That he and his favourite servant might also be listening is not a remote possibility."

"I care not! I wish to know what they want with Lindir, to force him so viciously to comply with their desires. I wish to know how Ilúvatar, our father, how _any_ father could abandon the thralls. Even now, they force them to relive the horrors of their lives. For what? What of Vairë and her constant weaving of the history of Arda? Could not she have recorded what transpired in the depths of Angband and Barad-dûr and Tol Sirion and Carn Dûm and Dol Guldur and how many other countless terrible places beyond the borders of Middle-earth? What of Manwë himself? Does he not hear all, just as Elbereth sees all? And what of Ilúvatar? Where is he?"

"As to Vairë, she is a judge in the trial and has allowed those of her tapestries that detail the lives of those who spoke to her in Mandos, to appear before the court. As to force? Your tone suggests that Lindir was not invited as sincerely and kindly as my own brother." Ecthelion took him by the arm again. "Come, you are distressed, my friend. I know that Lindir has not told you what he knows of that place, but I do not understand this matter of force. Please enlighten me. I cannot bear to see you so fraught up. There is a glade yonder. Let us venture there to sit and speak awhile on these matters. Or sit in peace."

Glorfindel, passing a hand over his face, nodded slowly and allowed himself to be led to the low grassy bank.

~*~

The morning dragged by. Arien rose sluggishly in the sky. In Silmo's room, Laiglas and Linden excused themselves and rose from the table where they were all gathered to make their way to the summit.

"We shall be attending the trial," Linden had told Silmo and him before they had left. "Eönwë has invited us to sit near him." Then she had bent to kiss Lindir's brow and brush back his long tresses. "I love you."

"Good luck," Laiglas had added as he had kissed Lindir in turn. Then, taking his sister's arm, he had escorted her from the room and the veil had fallen back over the door after their disappearing figures.

There was silence for a time. Then Silmo stirred. "Do you wish for something to eat before we begin today?" His brow knit when Lindir, unsmiling, shook his head slightly. "Are you certain? Today will not be easy. They will question you about your relationship with Annatar today."

"I have no appetite."

Silmo opened his mouth to speak again, then simply nodded, lips pursed, and did not press the matter.

~*~

When he had awoken from a fitful slumber before dawn the morning after he had learned of Lindir's pregnancy, he had discovered - with a little surprise - that Lindir was once again cleaning his rooms. The elf was moving around in the shadows of his room, softly sweeping away the leaves that had blown in from the courtyard; the doors had been left open since the previous afternoon. Glorfindel had lain on his side, curled beneath the warm blankets, and watched him, uncaring if Lindir noticed he was being observed. His gaze scanned the elf's flat stomach, then travelled down the slender legs, then skimmed up to Lindir's face.

Then down to his rear. Then back to his stomach. Then back to the face.

Lindir neared his side of the bed, still sweeping. His eyes were downcast; focussed on his task. As he stepped right up to the mattress, his gaze shot up - a cursory glance that was perhaps only to assure himself that Glorfindel was still asleep. When he saw that Glorfindel was awake, his eyes widened. Then, eyes still wide, he inclined his head and leaned back as if he were about to turn and move away to clean elsewhere.

Glorfindel's arm shot out and patted the space on the blankets beside him. "Sit with me awhile." He raised himself on his elbow.

Lindir inclined his head again and leaned his broom against the bedside table before moving to obey, his shoulders slumped, eyes not meeting his, but instead lowered to the blanket between them. Glorfindel regarded him in silence for a time. Finally, he stirred.

"Is there a healer that I should summon?" he asked. "From Mirkwood or Lindon, perhaps, who has experience in these matters? Do you know of someone?"

Lindir lifted his gaze nervously. Their eyes met for a moment; then the elf's eyes flickered away. "I do not know anyone."

Glorfindel's brow knit. The elf's tone told him that the elf was not only referring to healers, but also to all elves that he had ever known in Lindon. What of the elf's family? Was he not born in Lindon? But for the moment, he chose not to let the conversation drift onto a tangent. "What about the first time? When Linden was born? Did Elrond summon anyone?"

"Mithrandir had a Mirkwood elf advise him and he advised Elrond of what the elf had told him in turn, but I do not think Elrond summoned anyone. I already know how to do it and Laiglas has known since he was small how to help."

His tone here also told Glorfindel that Lindir was not referring only to Laiglas helping out at Lindo's birth. There were other elves... or men or other creatures in there that were also suffering from this strange affliction. Perhaps it was a common illness in Dol Guldur. Perhaps, also, it was rare to be a male thrall and untouched by this knowledge and sickness in that place. How alien the elf must feel in Imladris then!

Suddenly overcome with a surge of mingled pity and concern. He raised himself higher and reached out to caress Lindir's smooth cheek with the backs of the curled fingers of a hand.

The elf was still warm. He leaned back, unappeased.

"Elrond tells me that you and your children are still not yet citizens of Imladris," he said after another pause. "If this is the case, then in the unlikely case that your application to remain here be ultimately rejected, I will raise the child alone."

Lindir nodded, his face still.

Suddenly moved by another thought, Glorfindel ventured then, "Have you ever had any other children? Besides the three that live with you now?"

Lindir shook his head. Glorfindel nodded and smiled a little then.

"Were you a new thrall, then?"

Lindir shook his head again.

"How long?"

Lindir turned his head to look at the open doors. A breeze had crept in, brushing leaves and fallen petals before it, beginning to undo his labours. "I was an elf of Eregion then."

His voice was a bare whisper, his face slack.

Glorfindel, his smile fading, said no more. After a little longer, Lindir rose, his expression downcast, took up his broom, and resumed his work.

~*~

_"When did you first feel love for Sauron? Was it before or after Sauron presented you with the necklace that you have just mentioned to us?"_

_Afterwards, but not immediately so. Indeed, if you are insinuating that the necklace had something to do with swaying my heart towards him, I do not believe it. I already admired and took joy in his company before I received that gift._

Silmo was silent a moment. Then he ventured, _"Lindir, Eönwë has informed the court that Sauron has not denied the accusation that he made the necklace to not only maintain and strengthen your friendship with him, but also as a means to control you and encourage you to obey him. However, he denies that he made it to influence your heart. He suggests that it was either a side-effect or that your love for him was genuine, which is supported by the fact that you sometimes professed your love for him even when you were not wearing the necklace."_

_Indeed, I still believe my love for him was genuine... is still genuine. But I wonder, will the court believe me?_

Silmo did not answer, instead continuing with Eönwë's line of questions. _"Eonwe now requests that you tell him exactly when you fell in love with him."_

_Elbereth! I did not simply wake up one day and fall in love with him!_

_"Then answer him with a timeframe, as narrow as you can accurately recall for him."_

Lindir searched his mind. When had he first realised that the jewel smith was regularly coming to spend time with him when Erestor was not with him? When had he realised that he had begun to look forward to Annatar's visits and his deliveries of books and letters to him, first twice a week, then three times... and then they were seeing each other almost every day. When had he changed his schedule so as to accommodate Annatar's visits and make time for visits of his own? _Within the first half of 1200,_ he answered finally. _It all seems such a blur. The line between friendship and love was breached so slowly, so gradually. I believe, indeed, I was quite taken with him the first day I met him._

_"Drawn to his physical appearance?"_

_That and his personality; it reminded me of my own personality. It struck me as the character of an introverted person who had worked hard to hide his true awkwardness, or perhaps inexperience, with conversing casually with others. Sometimes I thought he seemed over eager to befriend me, as if he were uncertain of our friendship, and that reminded me greatly of myself at the time as I was also struggling to be accepted and feel accepted by the community at Eregion. This warmed me to him._

_"You said yesterday that you confessed to him. When, then did you do this?"_

_Aye. It was near 1300 when I dared to tell him, sometime in that last decade before the turn of the century. My desire to spend time with him had by then occasionally become so intense that I could no longer ignore... how I felt. Seeing him smiling with another would be physically painful for me; would make my palms sweat and my eyes tear._

_"Why did you not tell him before then if it pained you so?"_

_As I say, I did eventually dare to confess to him. But I was frightened to do so before then. Indeed, I was frightened when I did tell him! The concept of losing his friendship, which was by then was so precious to me, terrified me. I did not know how he felt about love between two men. Indeed, he never spoke of love at all, not even when I raised the subject in relation to others - between male and female or male and male - casually with him. He would always change the subject. The Customs of most folk do not regard amorous love - especially long term love - between two men favourably. Indeed, the Customs of the Eldar do not acknowledge it at all. When Annatar would not speak to me of love, how then was I to know that he tolerated, much less sympathised, much less empathised with love between two men? So I assumed that he was like most male elves; interested only in the opposite sex._

_"So why did you tell him?"_

_I could no longer hide my desire for him so I began to avoid him. One day, he caught up with me and demanded to know the reason why."_

_"You could no longer hide your desire? In what way?"_

_In what other way? I have a male body! We are not so lucky as the fairer sex whose bodies will not so plainly betray them when they feel passion!_

_"I understand what you mean, but for the benefit of some in the court, you were aroused by his presence?"_

_Aye! Aye!_ Lindir swallowed hard and wondered if Glorfindel was in the audience. Ilúvatar help him!

_"And what was Annatar's reaction to your confession to him?"_

_He kissed and embraced me as a friend and then invited me to help him find a book. If he noticed my state, which I think was quite easy to read, he said nothing directly of it._

_"Please recall the incident."_

"I missed you," Annatar had said to him when the jewel smith had found him in the library, rearranging books on the shelves on a high ladder. Lindir had greeted him and climbed down slowly, as steadily as he might without betraying the reason for the heavy thumping of his heart and his sweating palms. "You have been so busy this past month that I have not seen much of you."

"Aye, it has been a busy month," Lindir lied. He smiled wanly, half hoping that Annatar would not notice how he was avoiding his eyes, half hoping that he _would_ notice. Indeed, he was trying to avoid looking at the smith at all; every glance of his that landed on the other's body sent shivers down his body; distracted him... How, he wondered as his eyes danced to graze over the other's throat and at a corner of jaw before darting away, was it that Annatar did not notice him staring at him?

"Is something wrong?"

"Ah! Nay!" But now that Annatar had noticed, he met the other's gaze head on. He felt himself trembling, his cheeks pale. He could not think to come up with a reason. Formless sentences sprang to his mind, but he could not formulate a response from them that seemed plausible, much less truthful. He looked away again. His body felt hot and cold. He felt aroused. Sweaty. Needy. Scared. Afraid. Frightened. Terrified. So hot. He suspected that he had responded too fast; too defensively. He wished Annatar would leave him.

He wished Annatar would touch him. A few burning droplets leaked from him.

"Should I leave, then?"

"Nay!" He looked back at the smith, at the other's frown. "It is my fault!" he found himself gushing then. "I have been avoiding you. I was afraid of what you might think of me."

"Why? What have you done, Lindir?"

"..."

"Lindir." Annatar stepped closer and Lindir, as he felt the approaching body heat, could have fainted. His knees trembled. His erection released yet a little more of its frustrated load.

And then Annatar stepped right up to him; close enough to reach out and gently cup his chin to raise it so that Lindir's tearing eyes met his own. "What is it?"

How long they stood there, Lindir did not know; he could not have cared. It felt like seconds. It felt like eons. But when Annatar's eyes suddenly flickered with what he saw to be resignation, something shattered inside of him and he silently stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and pressed his body against Annatar's, buried his face in the other's chest.

Another silence passed. And then Annatar said, in an odd sort of voice, his arm around Lindir's waist. "Is this how you feel towards me?"

"Aye." Lindir heard his voice shake. "It has been growing on me since the day we met; I can no longer ignore it."

And that was when Annatar had kissed him.

It was not a passionate kiss, but also not entirely a kiss free of amorous intentions. Laiglas's kisses had been warmer than this first kiss. There had been a shuddering warm gust upon his lips and then, after a moment of tortuous expectation, soft lips had pressed against his. Then the touch had retreated and then Annatar had been smiling softly at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. A hand had stroked his hair.

"You will always be dear to me, Lindir, however you see me," he had said.

Chapter 17

The elves sat side by side on the greensward in silence; in the dappled shade of the boughs of the willow, before the stream. Glorfindel sat with his arms around his knees, Ecthelion with his legs stretched before him, his arms stretched behind him - supporting him.

Glorfindel watched the shadows of the quivering leaves shift gently across the rippling waters. Every now and again, his gaze shifted to regard the expressionless face of the elf beside him. In the time since they had come to be sitting here - some hour or so ago, he had told much to his friend of what had transpired since he had received Ingwe's summons in Tirion and, perhaps - most probably - mistakenly had obeyed it.

On the last of these looks, Ecthelion met his eyes for a moment, and then looked at the river. His dark hair drifted in the faint breeze. "You said you did not take Lindir into your house because you loved him. Why, then? Why enter into such a strange marriage with him?"

"Oh, I did love him when I married him; I still love him. But I did not make the decision to take him in as my dependent out of love for him."

"What, then, prompted you to make such a choice?"

Glorfindel pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. There was a long pause and then he stirred and said, softly, "I am not like you, Ecthelion. I never fell in love."

"The opportunity was always there, Glorfindel; many of your lovers thought that what they had with you was love until you broke it off with them."

"Aye, perhaps I am selfish or misguided in my perception of love."

"I did not mean that you were to blame, Glorfindel. The bonds of marriage are not breakable. Who would wish to enter into such a union with a half-heart? And yet you did with Lindir. You made him your dependent by law, which is the tightest bond that may be made between two members of the same sex. Why?"

"Maybe I was tired. Maybe I ventured to Lindon one day and did not recall either the face or the name of an elf who claims that we once spent a night together in Woodhall. Maybe I woke up one day after another over-merry night and found myself yet again beside another faceless youth and regretted that I was teaching him such a lifestyle. All my lovers are either young and unwed, or old and married; too often the former are my students and the latter my colleagues who would I keep their secrets with them."

"So you did it on a whim?"

"I think I did, but I do not regret such a whim. It was the first time in many yen when I felt that my affection for Lindir was having a positive effect; I had no guilt about my part in the relationship. True, I barely knew Lindir when I made that contract with him; he still spoke desperately little of himself, but..." and here he smiled, "...Lindir speaks most eloquently with his actions. There was no doubt in my mind that we would fail to be content as one. His devotion to his children and truthfulness met well with my own scruples. Even if we had lost our sexual appetites for one another, we would have done well. And we have done well."

"Until now?"

"Nay, I do not believe he has done anything to threaten our relationship. But that said, he has spent more than half of his life in thraldom. Who am I to say that he was not different, then? I have no doubt that a life of thraldom would change anyone. But I do believe he knows that if he has done anything to threaten our relationship that he now must profess before that court, he should have told it to me before now. For I am half that relationship."

Ecthelion was silent a moment. Then he said, "Nay, you are all of that relationship, as is he. When do you venture to the summit?"

"The day after tomorrow. I am only permitted to visit once a week, but I will try to see Lindir in that time and if it is well with him, I will remain there with him. I know that he may not wish me to be there with him."

Ecthelion nodded slightly.

There was another pause. Then Glorfindel ventured. "How fares your brother? Any news of him?"

"Not as of yet," the elf said. "His part in the trial is over, I believe, but he has not returned. Only a few of those who were thralls in the First Age have come down from the mountain so far. It should not be long now, I think."

"So it will not be long until you leave this place yourself and return to Tirion with him, then?"

"Perhaps." Ecthelion looked at him. "As you have been speaking, I have decided that I will wait until I have seen your condition on your own descent. You may wish for a familiar friendly face and from what I gather, you do not find such support in your own relatives."

"Oh, that is kind of you, but I do not believe what I will see will cause any great threat to my relationship with Lindir."

"I do not speak so much of your response to what Lindir may be telling the court so much as your response to what is shown in the court. I hear that there are no limits to the violence that is shown and that the memories of the witnesses are shown as fresh as if they had been transplanted straight from memory. I have seen elves who have seen much without baulking on the battlefield be unable to remain on the summit after seeing their beloved one's memories. Some of their faces are so changed that they look as if they have been the thralls themselves."

"Aye, but that was with Morgoth. He was much more violent than I hear Sauron was in his dealings with others."

"Nay, from what I have heard, Sauron, though he lacked the hot wrath and lust of Morgoth's terrible rages, was no less terrible. Sauron could work with a patience and cunning unknown to most of us. But when he had finally beguiled you, he would strike as swift as a snake, as cruel as the ice of the Helcaraxe, for while he was beguiling you, he was taking note of every single one of your weaknesses. I can not think of any torment greater than the psychological pain induced by a torturer who knows you better than you know yourself."

Glorfindel shivered. He looked at the stream and wondered what Lindir was doing at that moment.

~*~

"Lindir, in spite of your love for Sauron in Eregion, did you notice any behaviours of his that seemed strange?"

There were always signs, signs that at the time I either took to be harmless characteristics of his personality or did not notice at all. As I have already told you, he had an interest in learning about the cultures of the men of Rhovanion and further east and south, in the realms bordering Mordor. Some of those peoples he later enslaved and turned to his will, some within the years that he was still welcome in Eregion, for he sometimes travelled far away in those times. When he did, there was always a whisper of something amiss in these realms, but the wars that occurred always went on long after he had returned to us and he was never seen travelling in these lands, so I thought nothing of it until later. 

"Were there any other signs?"

Aye, in conversations his contributions sometimes turned towards ideas that I did not understand.

"What sort of ideas?"

I do not know. They seemed... strange. For example, he was extremely perceptive about the behaviour of others and sometimes he shared these observations with me when we were out alone together when I made an assumption that was incorrect. Other times, I noticed that he only very rarely made an error with regard to elven customs, even though he was an outsider who had claimed to have never lived with elves before now. That struck me as strange, though admirable at the time. And then there were the times yet again when he showed an acute knowledge of what lay inside the body of both elves and humans and beasts. He seemed to know how every part worked. He said to me that he was an amateur healer, but I always saw him as far more skilled than he claimed, though I said nothing of it to anyone. Certainly there was no need for him to show his skills in the healing rooms as there were no serious incidents with casualties when he was in the realm. I sometimes wondered, though, if he were a skilled healer amongst his own people.

"Tell us more about the dogs he kept in his rooms. You mentioned them to us yesterday. They must have been a strong clue."

Aye, I knew later that they were his servants and realised that those occasions on which he took them out to run them in deserted fields south of the realm, were opportunities for them to take messages between him and his servants who looked after his realms in his absence. I once accompanied him on such a trip; actually, I followed him, but he caught me. He allowed me to accompany him to a hillside and I saw him release the dog, but I was, unfortunately, so distracted by him that I did not notice the dog's movements. Annatar soon led me away to a glade out of sight of the hillside. When the dog eventually returned to us, long after dusk, he did not look as if he had remained on the hillside as Annatar had claimed. He was covered in sweat, panting heavily, and the bandage on his leg looked tattered and torn. He looked to me as if he had run many miles. I wondered if he had been ill, but Annatar assured me that he was well. I did not press the issue as the dog quickly resumed its hostile attitude towards me and threatened to bite me.

"Was that his only use of the dogs within the realm?"

I believe so. He did not let them out of his rooms except to run them on the borders. Sometimes he did not return with a dog; when I asked him about it on these occasions, he would tell me that he had released it as its injury had healed. Other times he returned with new injured dogs.

"Were there any other strange behaviours that you observed? Anything that someone may have mentioned to you?"

The only strangeness that I heard from anyone before Celebrimbor made his announcement that Annatar was no longer welcome in the realm was that Erestor sometimes told me that mail was missing or anticipated mail never arrived in the realm. In the latter half of the 1400s he told me to not let anyone near the mail basket. In the 1500s when the smiths were working on the ring project under Annatar's instruction, he told me to only meet with Annatar outside my work hours. I think he suspected that Annatar was not as scrupulous as he made out.

~*~

Beside the river, Ecthelion suddenly stirred once more. "Lindir's children at the time. How did they react to your contract to take Lindir as your dependent and Gloredhel?"

Glorfindel snorted softly and smiled. "Gloredhel, they took well. I, not well."

~*~

Lindir stood in the middle of the deserted field and, his hands on his hips, had looked from side to side, and then back ahead... and then looked behind. His brow knitted. Surely Annatar had been standing where he was not a few minutes ago? So to where had the other disappeared? He scratched his head and looked back, wondering if perhaps Annatar had returned to the path on the other side of the hedge that lined the north half of the field to take a different path. He sighed and fished in his tunic for his handkerchief, with which he daubed at the sweat beading on his brow.

"Elbereth, where have you flown?" he muttered. He glanced once more around the field, then turned and walked back to the path. When he reached there, he struggled through the hedge, then yelped when a hand suddenly seized him by the arm and dragged him through onto the path.

"Annatar!" he gasped, staring at the other who stood there with arms folded, a frown on his face. "There you are!" A few feet behind the jewel smith, one of the smith's dogs lay on its stomach, its lips curling back. There was a collar around its neck, which was attached to a thick leather leash. Lindir swallowed and looked back at Annatar. "I am sorry. I missed you today. You did not visit me. You are not angry, are you?"

Annatar's frown faded, but he did not smile. Instead he shook his head slightly and held out his arm for Lindir to take, indicating that Lindir was to walk with him. Lindir smiled and obeyed, leaning his head against the smith's shoulder, feeling his heart already begin to beat faster at the contact of their bodies. "I am sorry," he said again as they began to walk down the path that lined the perimeter of the field in the direction of a neighbouring barren hillside.

"It is no matter," Annatar said softly, "what is done is done. But I would that you respect my wish for privacy. This is why I come to these deserted places. It is also because I do not wish for any of these injured animals to attack anyone. They are quite wild and once they are off the leash I do not wish for them to set themselves on an onlooker."

"Like me?" Lindir was well aware of the limping dog eyeing him with its huge black eyes from where it trotted on Annatar's other side.

"Like you indeed."

"Should I head back, then?" Lindir said this, but he had little intention of doing so in truth. If he could have chosen, he would have stayed attached to Annatar's arm until the ends of Arda. Oh, if only they could keep walking like this; side by side.

"Oh no. There is no need for you to do that, but I do advise you locate yourself a seat on one of the lower boughs of that tree yonder while he is off the leash. Do you see it?" He pointed. Lindir nodded, his head tucked close to Annatar's arm, his nose inhaling snatches of the other's warm scent.

"Aye."

"Good."

They arrived at the base of the tree, a long deceased member of its kind with an enormous twisted trunk full of gnarls and knots. There, Lindir released the arm and after accepting a kiss from Annatar with delight and surprise, easily climbed up onto one of the thickest of the lower boughs where he sat, his feet dangling down about level with Annatar's shoulders when the smith stood straight.

Annatar bent and undid the dog's leash and it slowly stepped away; towards the tree, it's glaring eyes fixed on Lindir. At a whistle from its master, though, it glanced back and with a snort, swung its body around to turn and pad off down the hillside in a meandering path, the thin dust soil rising in clouds in its wake. Occasionally it paused to sniff at the bases of various trees. Occasionally it paused to look back.

Lindir's attention returned to Annatar, who was not facing him, but still watching after the dog. Lindir looked at him for a bit and then tilted his head when he noticed that his feet, if he stretched them a little further, would touch Annatar's shoulders indeed. A smile crept onto his face and he shuffled forward on his bottom across the bough until he was sitting perched on the very edge. Then, after toeing off his shoes and taking them in hand, he tapped Annatar on the left and right shoulders with his respective feet.

"Stay there," he said, when Annatar stiffened and turned his head to look around and up at him with knitted brow. "I want to sit on your shoulders."

The smith smiled; his brows rose, though they were still knitted. "Would you rather I came closer, then?"

"Oh, if you wish. It would certainly be helpful."

The other inclined his head and stepped backwards until he was standing almost directly beneath the bough and Lindir, smiling, skillfully swung himself down so that he was now hanging by his arms from the bough, a leg on either side of Annatar's head. Then he released himself and sat there. "Done. I am not hindering you overmuch am I?"

"Nay, you are so light. I know a scarf that is heavier." He rested his hands on each of Lindir's thighs and rubbed one of them absently in a caressing, stroking gesture. Lindir looked down at the hand and swallowed. Though it only moved in truth a few inches up and down the top of his thigh, it felt as if it were running far further across the nerve endings of his skin. The warmth rippled, heading inwards and upwards - ever inwards - until it met with the half-hard flesh lying quiescent between his legs - inches from the back of Annatar's scalp. He felt his cheeks heaten up. Elbereth, he had not anticipated this sort of incident.

Or perhaps he had and that was why he was sitting in such a manner. He swallowed again when the unseen hand seemed to clamp down over the burgeoning flesh like a heavy, burning weight.

"You are very tense," Annatar suddenly commented. He ceased stroking Lindir's leg. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"It is not that," Lindir said, pulling an unseen face above Annatar's head. His loincloth and leggings felt far too loose and on looking down, he noticed that indeed they were far from confining his erection to an obedient size, which was bulging rather obviously through the cloth.

"Then what is it?"

"I am embarrassed to say." Lindir winced when he felt the first scalding droplets begin to exit him. He looked back to see if he might grab hold of the bough to raise himself up and away from the object of his body's disobedience, but in his distracted state he had not realised that Annatar had stepped a little away from the tree.

"Ah." Annatar resumed stroking his thigh. Lindir swallowed again and watched the bulge, against his willing it, grow larger. When a few more of the boiling droplets squeezed from him, he finally decided that he could not safely take this torment anymore.

"I think I should climb down," he said, his face burning.

"Oh? Are you certain?"

"Aye."

"As you wish." And Annatar calmly reached back and seizing him by the hips, raised him and carefully lifted him over his head and down to the earth. Lindir landed and after a cursory glance around him to ensure that the dog was no where in sight, wondered, keeping his embarrassment hidden from Annatar's sight, what he should do about it.

Annatar answered that question for him when he suddenly saw the jewel smith come to stand alongside. "Come," he said calmly, not looking at Lindir, "there is a little glade near the path a little further west that is more beautiful than this barren hillside. Let us take a stroll there."

"What of the dog?" Lindir looked at the hillside, but he could not see the dog. "Where is he?"

"He has found a little dusty hollow behind that hedge over there and has decided to have a roll there. He has a keen nose. He will find us when he is content to return to us." Annatar nodded in the direction of a thick hedge in the distance, then looked back at him and held out his arm, a smile on his face. "Come."

Lindir inclined his head and took the arm.

~*~

Lindir's pale skin had been tinged blue by the moonlight that streamed across the bed from the wide windows, unhindered by the unclosed curtains and bed drapes. He sat atop of him, naked, rocking his hips gently upon the column of heat buried deep inside him. Beneath him, his head supported by a pillow, Glorfindel observed him through heavy lidded eyes, still not yet so far gone that thought had left him. The ends of Lindir's long hair - silvery brown in the light - brushed gently against his stomach and hips. Every now and again, the elf would raise his hand to push back his hair, but it continued to slip back to caress Glorfindel's body. Glorfindel did not mind.

When the elf raised his hands again, Glorfindel pushed himself up with an arm and with his other, wrapped it around the elf's head - tangling it in those silvery tresses - to draw him into a deep kiss, crossing his legs beneath them. Lindir's legs shifted to curl around his own back. When he pulled back, he paused to admire Lindir's dilated pupils, the elf's parted lips, the soft warm panting breaths that gusted across his mouth from between those wet lips, loud in the silence of the room. Lindir wrapped his arms around his neck.

He kissed him again.

Afterwards, when they had been lying together in bed, Glorfindel spooning the smaller elf, he had run his hand beneath Lindir's nightshirt to rest it on the elf's slightly swollen abdomen and, kissing the elf, ventured his proposal to him. "Perhaps this is not the time to venture such an offer to you," he said, "but I feel that now is the right time."

Lindir had said nothing. The only sign that he was awake was the elf's breathing and heartbeat, which told Glorfindel that the elf had not yet relaxed enough to enter revelrie. He had kissed Lindir's shoulder once more.

"Once the child is born I would that you consider becoming my ward," he said. "That you become my dependent; adopted into the House of the Golden Flower. That way you may automatically become a citizen of Imladris, indeed a citizen of all the elven realms of Middle-earth that still abide by the old customs for my house is accepted in all those lands. You may also cease your work as a cleaner and be idle or even take up some studies with various of the scholars to allow you to enter some better profession in the realm."

Lindir twisted around to look at him, his brow furrowed. "And my children?"

"Them as well." Glorfindel kissed his shoulder once more.

"You will take us in on the provision that this child is born?"

Glorfindel smile faded slightly. "Aye."

Lindir was silent a few moments. Then he stirred and said, softly, "I would be honoured and happy to be your ward."

Glorfindel doubted that the elf could have made any other decision considering his current situation, but he did not let this thought damper his mood. Instead he pushed himself up and leaned over Lindir to resume kissing him. Lindir returned his kisses, but as Glorfindel reached down and felt Lindir's legs part willingly to allow his hand passage, the discomforting thought occurred to him that he might just have pushed the elf over the edge towards feeling obliged towards him with his words.

Through the loincloth, he pressed his thumb into the still damp circle of muscle; heard Lindir's breathing quicken and louden in the quiet.

It was too late now, he realised.

Chapter 18

In the weeks leading up to Gloredhel's birth, Glorfindel moved ahead with the arrangements to take Lindir and the elf's children into his care. His rooms in and of themselves were not expansive enough to accommodate a family with four children, at least not in a sense that he thought would be acceptable for an elf of his standing, so he sought to secure a suite of rooms elsewhere in the house for Laiglas and Lindo and Linden. As for the newborn, he took stock of his rooms and decided, after long consideration, to turn his study into a nursery. It was either the study or the dressing room, but the latter was more difficult to dispose of or alter as it adjoined his wardrobe.

Elrond, to whom he had related his intentions in order to gain permission to secure the extra rooms, had had little to say on hearing his reasons.

"I cannot say that I understand or approve of your decision. That said, I do not have any jurisdiction in matters as personal as the ones of which you speak. As your friend and leader, I will continue to support you. Please advise me when you have welcomed Lindir and his children into your household and I will adjust his citizenship." And then, with a grave face, he had said no more and turned to the matter of finding rooms that might be suitable for a group of children.

Other acquaintances and friends of his had been less swift to accept the situation. When Gildor, another bachelor who enjoyed his affections, had visited him in the last few weeks, the elf had expressed bafflement and concern on hearing his decision.

"So you really are serious about this elf?" he had remarked when Glorfindel had shown him the nursery on what would be their last night together.

"Aye." Glorfindel leaned against the doorjamb and watched the tall elf walk alongside the small cot, a long hand stroking the smooth wooden rail. "This will have to be our last time."

"You know, I thought for a moment, when I heard word of this in Woodhall, that either you or the messenger were mad."

"As you can see, neither of us are so."

"Indeed." Gildor turned his head to look at the new reclining chair against the wall, quite close to the cot. His lips curved into a small tight smile and he looked back at Glorfindel. "Is it true about the..." he raised his hand from the rail and gestured vaguely, "... method of feeding the child?"

Glorfindel tilted his head and exhaled. "Why?"

"I am curious." The hand returned to the rail; lily pale in the moonlight streaming through the window.

"Then aye."

Gildor's lips pursed momentarily: an involuntary expression of revulsion. Glorfindel exhaled again.

There was a short silence. Then Gildor stirred and said, softly, "That must be painful for him."

When Glorfindel did not respond, the elf added, "Perhaps you should consider advising him to request that Elrond remove his reproductive parts after this one is weaned."

"I have considered it. That is his decision."

"Mm."

"Are you going to come to bed?"

Gildor nodded slowly and came around the cot to kiss him. "Technically, you are not marrying him. This does not have to be our last time," he said softly when he pulled back and began to unbutton Glorfindel's shirt. "Even if Lindir were a female, you would still be adopting her; not marrying her." He shrugged the garment from Glorfindel's shoulders and began to press kisses to his jaw and throat. Glorfindel swallowed.

"If Lindir were female, I would be marrying him in truth. But this is the closest I can get to marry a male under the law. So as it stands, I am treating this adoption as a marriage."

"If you were really marrying Lindir, then I would not even be confessing my willingness to still sleep with you. I do not sleep with married elves; you know this."

"Then let us call this a difference in opinion on the situation and leave this matter." Then Glorfindel had wrapped his arms around the elf and drawn him into a deep kiss.

In these same last few weeks, it had not escaped Glorfindel's notice that Lindir's changing body was gaining the attention of others. Nothing was said aloud, but enough was said in the sidelong glances and silence towards Lindir to make it clear to Glorfindel that the residents were very much in the opinion that Lindir was unwelcome. As for himself, he also could not take his eyes from the tiny elf's swollen belly. It did not disgust him, merely amazed him that a child was truly inside there. Many times each day, he set aside time to check on the elf, to ensure that Lindir was still well and in no pain. Every night, he came away thinking that Lindir was perhaps lying to him for he could not believe that such a growth could be painless.

One day he had ventured to speak his mind to Lindir, one day when they were unhindered by Laiglas's glares and Lindo's scowls and Linden's curious looks. The elf had simply smiled.

"What would you have me say?" he asked. "Lie and say that I am in agony? My body was not changed in this manner to torture me, but to create more thralls. If you must think on the matter, think perhaps that it is a compliment by those who run Sauron's breeding parlours that they thought me a thrall who would produce worthy thrall children. Obedient, submissive, honest, strong for my build, intelligent enough for their means..."

Glorfindel had had nothing to say to that; Lindir rarely alluded to his experiences in Barad-dur and Dol Guldur and wherever else the elf had been a captive.

~*~

How many nights had he spent twisted in the sheets of his bed, sweating and whimpering with the intensity of the emotions that harassed his body in his dreams. Even when captive... even in his early years with Glorfindel, he had still had dreams of Annatar... and Sauron. Dreams based on near baseless fantasies. Dreams that had coiled his body into knots of desire; a lust that had seared his flesh, that had made him sweat and pant and flail about in his sheets.

In later years, after Glorfindel had taken him into his House, he had sometimes woken in the small hours, shivering, clutching blindly at Glorfindel's body, gasping with the pain and pleasure of the creations of his subconscious. Initially, Glorfindel had seemed to assume that he had been in the grips of a nightmare. Lindir would have been more than content to let the elf-lord continue to think that way. But then came that night when he could not hide the fevered light of hunger in his eyes, the flush colour of his lips, the wetness between them. And then, slowly, Glorfindel had seemed to understand him.

Whether the elf-lord had known that it was Sauron that was invading his nights or thought that it was dreams of him, Lindir did not know. All he knew was that Glorfindel sought to comfort him with his own body. A distraction familiar, but especially welcome at such times. And gradually, the dreams changed. And then it was images of Glorfindel and not Sauron that made him cry out in his sleep.

And then, slowly, over the years, the dreams became more infrequent. Until at last he passed his first month and then first year and then first decade without them, yet now nestled nightly, in the arms of the living, breathing subject of his affections.

He wondered now, as he watched Silmo preparing to enter his body for the second half of that afternoon, if perhaps it was his tendency to dream; to fantasise... that had not only given him the skills to become a minstrel, but also to cope with what had happened. How many prisoners had he seen who had gone mad with their confinement? He could fathom no other reason for his own relatively successful recovery. For memory loss was one thing; Sauron and Erestor and time had cured him of that affliction. But loss of sanity was quite another disability.

Locked in his cell, without sound, without light, without another to whom he could speak, with only the monotony of smells and things to touch. He could have been deaf and blind and mute for all he remembered. Certainly, his voice always sounded strange to his own ears when he did try to use it. The rasps and the pain it caused his throat from disuse shook him with fear and prompted him to use it even less, for it was no comfort on either his ears or his voice. He had been consumed by, trapped into, bleak nothingness, an isolated pit of despair.

Boredom was a word that conjured up images of carelessness, idleness. It had a cynical ring to it that rendered it impotent of the very real disability, crippling pain into which it could ruin an individual. It exhausted, it provoked hysteria in the most stable of characters, it rent at every semblance of reason in a person. When Lindir had come out of that place, it was only in dreams that he had felt he existed. And indeed, it was only in Sauron's voice - Sauron's touch and face - that helped him to recall his past. Even in his early days in Imladris he could only remember fragments of what had transpired before the day that door had closed on him for what had seemed like the last time.

Erestor too had helped him to bridge this gap. _Elbereth_ , Erestor had helped him so much. The scholar had come to visit him every week. How many nights had the scholar spent with him and his children in the years before Glorfindel had taken him in? Erestor had taken Lindo and Laiglas as his students before Elrond had even given his approval and every week, the elf had come to visit him. All the scholar ever did was sit and recall to him stories of Eregion and his own memories of him, but they had helped. Oh, they had helped so much.

"Are you ready?" Silmo's voice broke through his thoughts. "The courtroom is almost settled." Lindir looked at him and with a tight smile, inclined his head. The Maia smiled back.

~*~

In spite of the constant assurances of Lindir and Elrond, Glorfindel still could not shake the feeling that something dreadful would happen at the birth of their first child. Over the last few weeks leading up to the birth he kept an almost incessantly close eye on Lindir and urged him to rest as much as possible, advice that Lindir would placidly accept to his face and immediately disobey behind his back.

"I will rest when I feel like resting," the elf would tell him when Glorfindel sometimes caught him about the house, sometimes cleaning, sometimes tidying, sometimes in Erestor's study with one or more of his children. Now that Glorfindel had come to consider Lindir a part of his own life, he had grown to realise just how much of a part Erestor already played in his intended spouse's life. The scholar already tutored Lindir's children and now, apparently, was also giving Lindir advice on his professional future as a resident of Imladris. It amused Glorfindel to find the two of them in Erestor's study in the late afternoon when it was customary for him to visit Erestor. Lindir would be curled up in scholar's armchair beside the fire with a hand absently stroking his swollen abdomen, and Erestor would be at his desk. Glorfindel would listen awhile to their conversation from outside the room before entering and making his way to sit somewhere between the two of them. Occasionally, Lindir would rise and come over to sit beside him and Glorfindel, on these occasions, would make a point of putting his arm around the elf.

He had been on the borders when Lindir had gone into labour. By the time he had received word and hastened back to the house as fast as he might, his face pale, palms sweating, stomach churning, it had already been all over. But his fears had been far from realised; neither Lindir nor the child had passed away, and when he had arrived in the healing rooms, he had discovered Lindir already fast asleep and a freshly swaddled babe being coddled by Laiglas. The babe had looked absurdly normal. So normal and… Valar… so beautiful. Glorfindel had felt tears fill his eyes at the sight of the tiny child.

It had been later that day, alone in his rooms as Elrond had requested Lindir stay another night in the healing rooms, that he had held his hands to his face and, bending against the wall in the seclusion of the deserted new nursery, had wept in truth.

~*~

_"How close were you to Celebrimbor?"_

_As a friend, not well at all. Even though I knew a lot about him - more than most residents of Eregion. I never spoke to him except as Erestor's assistant._

_"Surely, though, you must have spoken to him when he came to Erestor's study. You were a citizen of the realm; one of his people."_

_I did speak to him when he came, but he rarely came to the study. Erestor was the one who usually went to him, not vice versa._

_"But Erestor was Celebrimbor's scribe."_

_Celebrimbor - or perhaps it was Erestor - or both of them - had made their relationship extremely efficient. They only saw each other once, maybe twice a day, but in that time everything was done that was deemed necessary by both of them. Celebrimbor also wrote all of his own private letters._

_"Even so, you must have known a lot about Celebrimbor's movements and activities."_

_I did. That is one of the reasons why I believe Annatar befriended me._

_"What sort of things did you know about Celebrimbor?"_

_Many things. From whom he was sleeping with to most of what he discussed with Erestor: political scandals, projects in the smitheries, new buildings and their design._

_"Did you actively try to find out this information after Annatar befriended you?"_

_Maybe he urged me to be a little more curious about Celebrimbor's activities than usual with his questions, but I really did not need to be an active inquirer. I learned most of Celebrimbor's activities and private secrets through conversations with Erestor and those in the library. Also through what I handled of Celebrimbor's papers. It was very easy for someone in my position to know everything about Celebrimbor, regardless of my level of interest in him._

_"How close was Celebrimbor to Annatar?"_

_Oh, they were... they seemed to be very close friends. Celebrimbor certainly saw him as a dear friend; he even tried to persuade Sauron with memories of their friendship when they met before the doors of his house on the day of his death. When I saw them together before that day, Celebrimbor always seemed to be excited. His face would be animated, he would be gesturing with his hands, and he always looked so happy. Annatar would also always be smiling at Celebrimbor. It..._ Lindir hestitated, then added, _...it made me a little jealous, actually, because sometimes, especially in the 1500s when the smiths were working on the ring project, Celebrimbor would keep Annatar in the smitheries for days - sometimes weeks - and I used to sometimes think that Annatar had forgotten me and passed me over for Celebrimbor. A petty childish thought and I knew that I was being childish at the time, but it was still there._

_"How did Celebrimbor treat you after he discovered that Annatar was Sauron?"_

_What do you mean?_

_"You have already told us that you were rejected by those elves that came from Lindon to rescue the residents from Sauron's armies. How did Celebrimbor treat you? Did he reject you as well?"_

_Oh! Nay, nay, he did not reject me at all. In fact, that was the time when we became closest, I think. I think he understood that I had been deceived just as completely as he had so he actually tried to look after me._

_"He did not think that you were perhaps a spy, then?"_

_Not at all. He trusted Erestor's judgement and Erestor trusted me._

_"From our information, Erestor went with the rescuers. Why, then, if both he and Celebrimbor, both esteemed elves by Lindon's standards, trusted you, were you rejected?"_

_"Neither of them knew that I had been rejected until later. Erestor left with the first party, along with his lady and children, so he did not learn that I had been rejected until much later, perhaps not even until I came to Imladris with Laiglas and Lindo. As for Celebrimbor, he did assign me, as he assigned all of us, to a rescue party, but the members and leaders of my assigned party rejected me. I was told to stay behind. When I turned up at Celebrimbor's house to take refuge there with those that were determined to remain with Celebrimbor, his lordship did question me, but I did not reply._

_"On a personal level, how did you feel about Celebrimbor?"_

_What do you mean?_

_"Did you like him?"_

_Well..._ Lindir considered the question for a time. Then he tilted his head and smiled. _Well, the fact that I did not know him very well as a person aside, aye, I did like and admire him very much. He was very dedicated to his work and though there was talk that he cared more for jewels than his people, I never felt that he passed up his citizens for them._

_"Except in the matter of allowing Annatar into the realm and not informing you of Gil-galad's warning about him?"_

_Perhaps, but as I think I have already told you, Lindon was a very conservative realm at the time. It did not like to admit outsiders. Also, I believe Celebrimbor was pressured by the other jewel smiths in the population to admit Annatar._

~*~

"Should we head back to the halls?" Ecthelion suddenly asked, his voice stirring Glorfindel from his thoughts.

"Aye."

They rose and arm in arm, walked out from beneath the willow and back up the slope. Glorfindel looked at the windows that looked out across the greensward from the baths. He could see steam drifting out and up from some of them. Loud voices raised in laughter emanated from one. He pursed his lips.

Beside him, Ecthelion suddenly stirred. "Glorfindel."

"Mm?"

"Forgive me if my question offends you, but about Lindir's breastfeeding... well, it cannot be called _breast_ feeding, now, can it?"

"Ah. Ha!" Glorfindel laughed sharply and loudly. On his arm, he sensed Ecthelion stiffen so he swiftly turned and sought to reassure his friend with a smile. "I am not offended. What is your question?"

Ecthelion smiled slightly. "Did Lindir feed Gloredhel, and then Glingal in that..." he waved a hand vaguely before them, reminding Glorfindel of Gildor's own manner of breaching the same subject, "...manner?"

"Aye, he did."

"You did not attempt to call in a wet nurse?"

"I did, but he refused. It looked incredibly painful." Glorfindel snorted softly as he thought back to when he had woken up the first night when Lindir and Gloredhel had come to sleep in his rooms. He had found the elf sitting on the recliner in the shadows of the nursery, Gloredhel lying between his legs and suckling at the blushing head of his erect penis. "I knew that that was how Lindir had raised his three others, but when Elrond explained it to me, I certainly had second - and third - thoughts about letting Gloredhel be fed in that manner too." He recalled how uneasily Lindir had regarded him when the elf had seen him standing at the door of the nursery; the tension that had gripped the small elf's shoulders, a tension that had not left until Glorfindel had sat down beside him and held and kissed him.

"So you already knew that that was the feeding mechanism?"

"I did. Thank goodness. I do not know what I would have done if I had not known." He shook his head, still smiling. "Anyway, if Lindir found it painful, he did not speak of it."

"How would he hold the child whilst feeding it?"

"Usually sitting down, with the child in his arms and his arms supported by his lap. It was very easy, actually, a lot easier and cleaner and smoother than I thought it would be, though naturally I was relieved when at last Gloredhel was weaned." He put his hands behind his back, clasped his hands together.

"But then of course came Glingal."

"Mm." As they reached the side door, Glorfindel paused to look back at the stream. A gust of wind swirled up to meet him; the cold air chilled his face. His smile fading, he looked up at the towering mountain standing over them. Beside him, Ecthelion followed his gaze.

"How old was Laiglas by this time?"

Glorfindel looked at him. His brow knitted. "At Gloredhel's birth? Well, he was fourteen and score years when I met him so he would have been one year older when Gloredhel was born."

"I understand that he was born with the same affliction as Lindir, as were all your children except Linden."

"Linden, we are unsure about; she has not wed and had children so we do not know if she is a carrier, as Elrond has indicated may be the case. As for the males, aye, they are all like Lindir from birth."

"They produce milk from birth?"

"Oh! Nay, they only begin to produce milk once they have matured; reached puberty."

"So at the time of Gloredhel's birth, Laiglas would have already been producing milk?"

"Aye, that is so." Glorfindel glanced sidelong at Ecthelion, a frown on his face. "Why?"

"Mm. I was merely curious." Ecthelion turned away and stepped into the halls. Behind him, Glorfindel, still frowning, paused a while before shaking his head - as if to himself - and turning to follow after him.

~*~

"We seemed to have progressed quickly through the details of when Annatar was in Eregion," Lindir said when Silmo finally announced that the questions were over for that day and the Maia had released him and stepped away. "Will tomorrow's questions involve the war?"

"Perhaps. I do not know," Silmo replied as he disappeared into the bathroom. He soon returned with a damp cloth with which he daubed at Lindir's brow. Lindir smiled.

"Thank you." When Silmo retreated again to return the cloth, he ventured. "Silmo, what of Celebrimbor's and Erestor's and the other elves' accounts of what happened in Eregion? Will those accounts be told to the court as well and if so, when?"

"Celebrimbor, actually, is to be questioned later today; after sunset." Silmo reappeared at the door of the bathroom and leaned there against the doorjamb, his arms folded.

Lindir frowned. "What? So there are other witnesses being questioned at the same time as I?"

Silmo nodded. "Indeed. Usually it is one or a few more besides you each day."

"That sounds hard on the judges… and Sauron," he added after a pause.

"It is harder than you think. Every day, witnesses are being questioned outside the court as well as inside. Key witnesses such as you and Celebrimbor are the only ones that ever manage to stand and speak before the court. Other, less important, more circumstantial witnesses, are questioned outside the court and their evidence is then given to the judges on the morning of the following day."

"What about Elrond? He seems to know a lot about Sauron's research and experiments through his notes as well as his interactions with me. Is he to be a key witness?"

"Elrond is a key witness. He is a respected lore master and so the court sees his word as reliable. He has already come to the summit of Taniquetil and taken up temporary residency while he waits for the court to call on him. He attended your session today as a member of the audience."

Lindir swallowed. "And what of Glorfindel. Will he be attending the court as a member of the audience? Or..." and here his throat choked up at the thought of what Glorfindel might have thought on seeing his evidence in court that day, "...or has he already attended the court?"

"He has not attended it yet and for all I know, he may never attend it. I do not know what he is going to do or even if he wishes to visit the courtroom. His uncle, however, is King Ingwë so it is likely that if Glorfindel shows an intense desire to visit you, he will show up as Ingwë is allowed to invite members to visit the court with him at any time."

"I see." Lindir swallowed again and looked down at his hands, which lay furled in his lap. "I..." he hesitated, exhaled heavily, then began again, "I... I know that it is perhaps wrong for me to say this as his spouse, but I really do not wish for him to see me in there."

"Unless you would pull out completely from this deal, Glorfindel's attendance is a matter for Ingwë to decide. I can convey word to the King of your desire to prevent Glorfindel from attending the court, though, if you wish?"

Lindir pursed his lips and exhaled again. Would making such a request of Ingwë only make the situation worse? After all, Ingwë held no affection for him of which he was aware. Perhaps his plea might even _encourage_ the King to send Glorfindel to attend the court... or to attend sooner, if Glorfindel had already made arrangements. He looked at Silmo anxiously. "Ingwë does not approve of my relationship with Glorfindel. I am worried that if I make such a request of him, he may do the opposite and encourage Glorfindel to come..."

"Then I will not send word to him." Silmo tilted his head and smiled. "It is easy."

"Wait." As he thought longer on the matter, his brow furrowed. What a terrible grandson-in-law he made for Ingwë if he could not trust the elf. He felt dreadful! What a hypocrite! Trust would be repaid with trust, would it not? Perhaps this was his chance to at last begin to forge a good relationship between him and Ingwë. "Nay," he said then. "Tell Ingwë that I would have him prevent Glorfindel from coming up here. Please do."

Silmo's brow rose and the Maia gazed at him intently for a few moments. "Are you certain?"

Lindir swallowed, and then nodded firmly. "Aye. Please tell him."


	2. Chapter 19-36

Chapter 19

Glingal was absent from his rooms when Glorfindel, having parted from Ecthelion within the doors of the halls, went to look for him. When he asked of his son's whereabouts of a passing servant, the elf-maid politely informed him that Glingal had gone to spend time with his sweetheart and would be supping with her family. Glorfindel curtly thanked her, though inwardly he was seething at her courteousness; it was a sweeping contrast to the household's silence towards his and his children's frantic questions about Lindir's whereabouts when his spouse had disappeared only a few weeks ago.

A little disheartened at the prospect of supping alone as he was adamant not to spend it with his extended family, he left Glingal's rooms and found himself not walking towards his own rooms, but towards Lindir's.

When Lindir had left that afternoon only days ago, he had discovered, on returning to his own rooms, that Lindir's clothes had been moved - without his permission - out of his wardrobe and back to Lindir's assigned guestroom. He had not bothered to raise the issue to Ingwë. Indeed, it was probably Ingwë - or his grandmother - or perhaps even his own mother - who had given the order to have the clothes moved back. He knew they loathed Lindir and everything about his relationship with the elf.

_Elbereth, how good - how wholesome - it will be for all of us to leave this place. I look forward to that day._

On entering the deserted rooms, he looked about for a few moments, and then walked over to the wardrobe to pull open the doors. At the first sight of the familiar garments, a weary smile broke onto his face and he reached forward to grasp the oldest item - the thick fur cloak - identical to his own in every way save for size - and pull it from the hook on the back wall. Crumpling the material in his hands, he pressed the inner lining to his nose and mouth; closed his eyes as the familiar... _Elbereth_ , how could such a simple scent arouse such beautiful bliss, such complete calm in him, and yet - at the same time - cause his pulse to race so?

_Oh Lindir, I love you. So much._

When had he fallen so utterly for Lindir? When had he first realised that his act of forfeiting a previously promiscuous lifestyle for monogamy with the elf had turned from merely living according to his personal scruples to actually loving his self-confinement? To wishing to be with no one else? To realise that he actually was afraid of being apart from Lindir and to tremble and sweat at the merest of fanciful prospects of losing the elf?

It had been some time after Gloredhel's birth that Glorfindel had first begun to realise that he was, perhaps, really falling into that thing called love. It had been after the babe had been weaned and Lindir had undergone the first of the many operations under Elrond's patient hands that had attempted to remove the afflicting parts of him. Parts that for some unknown reason always - save for that one last time - managed to grow back over the next few months.

It had been in the small hours and he had just returned from a long farewell party that had been held for one of the senior scholars who was about to leave the realm for Lindon. Glorfindel had not enjoyed the gathering; he found few of the elves interesting and had had more sour notes with most of them than cheerful ones. Over the course of the night, he had increasingly found himself wishing that he had invited Lindir to attend with him. Even if Lindir still did not speak overly much with him or anyone for that matter, there was something utterly endearing and honest and well, much more charming, to his company. Certainly he was preferable to the company of those irrefutably splendid, but terribly dull elves at the party.

And so he had found himself standing at the door between the nursery, into which he had just peeped to check on sleeping Gloredhel, and the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the slumbering nude form of his lover. Lindir had been lying on his front, motionless, covered only to mid-back by the swath of white sheets, his smooth pale skin gleaming softly in the bathing moonlight.

Glorfindel had swallowed and then, not really thinking about the time or Lindir's perspective or the fact that he had to be up early the following day, had suddenly strode over to Lindir's side of the bed. After casting aside the last vestiges of his clothing, he had crawled cautiously over the elf and slid under the sheets beside him to spoon him.

"Mm." Lindir stirred at the motions of the bed beneath him and then, on sensing Glorfindel's close proximity to him, he lifted his head to turn to face him, push his hair out of his eyes, and meet his gaze. He blinked slowly, sleepily, his eyes focusing and unfocusing before finally focusing. His brow knitted.

A moment passed. Glorfindel did not attempt to voice his request, instead curious to see Lindir's response from what the elf could read of his body language and of his expression.

Moments later and he had his answer when Lindir raised a hand and, resting it on Glorfindel's shoulder, leaned in and pushed him back to kiss him. At first softly, then more fiercely and deeply. And it had been this forcefulness that all of a sudden, had made Glorfindel stiffen - in both surprise at his own uneasiness - and also concern for Lindir's reasons for responding in such a manner. And then he had suddenly found himself reaching up with both hands to cup the elf by the side of his face, halting the elf's endeavours to please him.

"Do you love me?" The words charged against his scruples. This relationship was not so much about love as it was about what was right and wrong. Love was an incidental part of it, a concept that - at least in terms of a lifelong bond between two individuals - still evaded his reason. But for a moment there, for a very slight brief moment... the merest of flickers on the scale, he thought he had grasped it. And for the first time, he was actually afraid that Lindir might not love him.

Lindir leaned back and stared at him for a few moments, his eyes almost black in the shadows, for the moonlight fell behind him, and not before. And then he had tilted his head and his brow had knitted. "As a lover?"

"Aye."

"I do not know."

Glorfindel had anticipated the answer. He had not, however, anticipated the crushing emotions that had accompanied hearing such words spoken aloud to him. Spoken so softly and so calmly.

Lindir had tilted his head, still gazing intently at him, reading his change in expression. "Should I have lied?" he asked presently, his voice still soft, a mere whisper in the air. Indeed, his voice was so quiet that Glorfindel fancied that Gloredhel's slight snoring in the next room was louder. He smiled then, partly out of amusement at the realisation that Gloredhel was snoring and partly to reassure Lindir.

"Nay." He drew the elf closer. "Please forget I asked." But over the following months until the day on which he finally confessed his growing affections to Lindir and utterly cast aside his pride, there was not a day on which he did not recall and regret his last sentence.

Now, alone in the guestroom, he suddenly smiled as it occurred to him that that moment that he had feared with all his heart then had finally, in a sense, come to pass. Lindir had indeed left him. Even if it was only temporary and even if Lindir had been forced to do so. He lowered the cloak from his face and, turning away from the wardrobe, wandered over to the bed to sit down heavily on the end. Shoulders heavy, he leaned forward and resumed scrunching the soft fluffy material of the cloak beneath his fingers.

The sun sunk beneath the horizon and night swept the lands of Valinor. Outside the window, the lindens still bloomed in the unnatural spring, their shivering blossoms shining white under the moonlight.

It was like this - under the cover of darkness; on the end of Lindir's silent bed with the elf's cloak in his hands - that Ingwë found him.

His approach had been soundless, but Glorfindel had still sensed him. Straightening, he had folded the cloak swiftly and neatly and turned to regard the diminutive elf standing a few feet from him with his hands behind his back. "Ingwë. What do you do here?"

"I came, of course, because I wish to speak to you."

"It is supper, though, is it not?"

Ingwë inclined his head. "Aye, I have also come to invite you to sup with me."

Glorfindel snorted and looked back down at the cloak lying quiescent in his hands. "Nay, thank you. I will not trouble you and the others with my presence; I am surprised that you asked, considering the obvious revulsion of the Queen towards me."

"I did not say that I was inviting you to sup with _us_. I said that I was inviting you to sup with _me_."

Glorfindel looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. "Ho? And you are not supping with them? Pray, why?"

"There is no need to use such harshness in your tone, Glorfindel."

"Ah, aye. Of course! Forgive me. You do not use such harshness in your tones or manners towards I, Lindir, and our children."

Ingwë's face tightened slightly and the King lifted his hand slightly in a placating motion. "It is about Lindir that I am here, Child." His gaze flickered towards the cloak, then back to Glorfindel's face. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed.

"Indeed? And what of Lindir?"

Ingwë's lips pursed, then stretched slowly - awkwardly - into a thin anxious smile. "I intend on heading to the summit tomorrow as well as the day afterwards as is already planned, and I was wondering if perhaps you and Glingal wished to accompany me and spend the day at court."

Glorfindel's anger washed away at his words. "Tomorrow?" His voice sounded suddenly so small - so hesitant.

"Aye." Ingwë's face softened slightly. "Will you come with me?"

Glorfindel swallowed and nodded, at first slowly, then vigorously. He swallowed again. "Aye. I would. I would."

Ingwë's smile broadened. "Then, I will meet you at the steps at the front of the halls after breakfast tomorrow? If one or both of you are not there, I will send someone to fetch you both."

"Aye, after breakfast." Glorfindel nodded again. "Thank you."

"Then, I will meet you on the steps," Ingwë said. "Until tomorrow." Then he stepped back, inclined his head and turned and left the room.

~*~

"Out of curiosity, if you were given the choice to choose between either Glorfindel or Sauron as a lover, who would you choose?"

Lindir looked up from where he was sitting at the table and digging into a nice braised steak of deer and frowned at the Maia sitting opposite from him. "Why?"

Silmo folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrow, a slight smile on his lips that reminded Lindir uneasily of a contented looking cat. "I said the reason why: out of curiosity."

Lindir shook his head slightly and smiled, though his brow was still knitted. "It should be obvious. I would always choose Glorfindel." He lowered his cutlery back to his plate and reached for his napkin.

Still smiling, Silmo pressed his lips together and nodded slowly.

Lindir's frown deepened. "Why? What is it?" Inside him, a sluggish coil of doubt, a doubt that he never wished to unravel to examine, squeezed tighter, painfully.

Silmo opened his mouth and frowned. Then he tilted his head and beneath the table, crossed his legs. "Well," he said then, slowly, "you may find it interesting - or perhaps disturbing - to know that from my perspective as a servant of Irmo, Master of Dreams, your heart and subconscious speaks more truly for Sauron than Glorfindel." He exhaled and turned his head to look at the window. "It is also increasing, this feeling of mine, that you are closer to Sauron."

"What do you mean?"

Silmo looked back at him ad smiled slightly, tightly, sympathetically. "I am uncertain as to the reasons why, but it means that you love Sauron more than you do Glorfindel."

Lindir stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then he swallowed, and his face tensing, he ventured anxiously, "But I love Glorfindel. I do. I know that I love Sauron too, I told you this, but I cannot... I mean, it would be madness for me to choose Sauron." He spread a hand on the surface of the table. It shook slightly and nudged the edge of his fork, which clinked against the plate. He flinched slightly at the sound. "I... suppose the judges think the same as you, then?"

Silmo, his face troubled, shook his head at him. "Lindir, perhaps I made an error in breaching this matter with you; you are under considerable duress at the moment, but..."

"Ai. It-it has something to do with the trial, does it not?" Lindir could hear his voice trembling. "All these memories. These..." he knocked the table with the side of his hand, "...these things. They all create doubts, do they not? It is surely understandable that I would feel swayed towards him - Sauron - A-Annatar?" He stumbled over the last name.

"So you admit it?" Silmo did not look at all perturbed. Indeed, he looked far from surprised. So why, Lindir wondered, did he now feel so uneasy before those thoughtful cypress brown eyes? Was this a dream? Another like that one that had assaulted him on his arrival at Ingwë's halls? Or was this real, this conversation? Suddenly, he was not so sure. Before his eyes, he saw Silmo's face suddenly soften.

He swallowed, only a little comforted by the gentleness in the other's expression. "It is the trial, is it not?"

Silmo inclined his head slightly. "Aye, it is more than likely that your participation in the trial is what has encouraged your existing affections towards Sauron to flourish," he said, his voice soft. "Also, you are currently isolated from Glorfindel and being provoked to think only of Sauron and remember events that, without my assistance, would have remained locked away in your mind, perhaps permanently." He paused to exhale. "But these memories - these experiences - are now being unlocked. And there is no way to reverse this process, Lindir. Even if you tried, they are now public. Trying to hide them a second time will only be folly. This time, you will have to deal with them."

Lindir swallowed again. He picked up his fork and poked it at the remains of the steak. Then he let it fall with a clatter to the plate and looked back at Silmo. "Why tell me this? What good does this information do me?"

"I raised this matter simply because you are confused in your own heart and I believe you wish for clarification on how you currently feel with regards to your two loves. It is already quite plain to me that you would never admit without provocation that you feel anything for Sauron and years with the elves has compounded this denial of how you feel."

"But I love Glorfindel too."

"That is also plain, but you did not accept his offer to enter into his house because you loved him, did you? I was not a deaf bystander at your meeting with Sauron, Lindir." Silmo's eyes narrowed. "I heard every word and it fits all too well with what I read of your heart. You would confess every truth of your soul and body to Sauron, yet when it comes to Glorfindel, you would hide from him at the slightest of questions about your past."

"How could I tell Glorfindel? I was lying to him from the start!" Lindir choked, his voice rising in volumes to a painful, embarrassing, hysterical shriek. "If I had rejected him, I would have had to leave Imladris and they would have taken Linden from me! Elrond would never have let me stay in Imladris. Even Erestor would have turned his back on me!"

"Truly? Have you ever stopped to wonder if perhaps the only reason Elrond wished to reject you was because he knew you were hiding something from him? Even if it was your love for Sauron, do you..." He started when Lindir, his face twisting, suddenly jumped up, jerking the table before him.

"Even if it was my love for Sauron!" Lindir cried, glaring down at him, his eyes full of tears. "How could I tell that to Elrond? What bitterer foe of Sauron exists than he, the one whose ancestor – Lúthien Tinúviel - cast Sauron from Tol Sirion?"

"Sit down, Lindir."

"I cannot... I do not want to speak further on this matter." Lindir choked on his words, feeling tears beginning to slip down his cheeks.

"You do. Sit down."

Lindir did so and seizing his napkin, buried his face in it, his shoulders shaking with the intensity of his sobs.

"Lindir," Silmo continued, "I am trying to help you."

Lindir lowered the napkin. "You-you are not helping me at all! At all!" he spluttered. "Not at all!"

"Lindir..."

"I never- _never_ wanted to come to this place! You forced me to help you! You forced me - Valar, you _forced_ me to help Sauron. _You_ are the one making me remember all these things. All these things I never wanted to happen! All-all-all I did was to befriend him in Eregion! I never asked for any of this to happen!"

"Why are you blaming..."

" _You_ were the one who attacked me in Ingwë's halls! You and Eönwë! All I wanted was to be a scholar, to-to finish my training with Erestor. I thought I was helping everyone - helping my people - by being nice to Annatar! What did I do to deserve this? And now you tell me _I_ am the one who is at fault? Why, why was Sauron even allowed to ask for me anyway? Why are you siding with him? Why have you not destroyed him? Why even trial him? Is he not your enemy? Has he not done enough already?" Lindir choked and buried his face again in the napkin.

Silmo did not say anything more and after a while, Lindir lowered the napkin and rose unsteadily to his feet to go into the bathroom. There, out of sight from Silmo, though he fancied the Maia could see him wherever he went, he sat down on the side of the bath and, dropping the napkin to the floor, buried his face into trembling hands.

_Valar, what have I done?_

~*~

It was late when Glorfindel finally rose from the bed in Lindir's guestroom and made his way back to his rooms. On his way, he paused by Glingal's rooms. Perhaps Glingal had returned from his supper. As he reached the door and raised his hand to knock, however, his brow furrowed on hearing raised voices. Familiar voices. Angry voices. He lowered his hand.

"You are lying! You always lie when it comes to them! You never let us in! Why do you even bother to call us your brothers when you are like this when it comes to them? It is as if we do not even exist! Are we not good enough, not being thralls? Not elite enough for you and her and him? Valar, you would think _he_ is Arien the way you both fawn over him. What ho! The two wayward Ithils! Is there not enough trouble with the one in the sky? You repulse me!"

"What? Why do you always become so emotional over such a little..."

"It is not foolish! This happens every single time that you hear Laiglas's name. Oh, Laiglas said this; Laiglas said that! You would think you are his pet, the way you follow him!"

"Ai! It was just a message! It was not even meant for you so why take it so personally?"

"Aye, but you _are_ leaving, are you not? Going to join them?" Glingal's voice interceded now, his tone uncharacteristically cold.

"I hardly think that..."

"Why are you so defensive?" the first voice exploded. "It was a simple question! Are you travelling to the summit to join them or not?"

"Well I..."

"See! You cannot even answer! What is the matter with you?"

"And what is the matter with you? Look! Just leave me alone, leave me alone!" The door suddenly flew open and the tall elf with silver hair looking about to charge out halted abruptly on seeing Glorfindel standing before him on the threshold, gazing levelly at him. His eyes widened. "Glorfindel."

"Go back inside," Glorfindel said wearily. "I wish to speak to all of you." He jerked his head at the two golden haired elves in the parlour, Glingal at the table, the other standing scowling with arms folded a few feet from the door. Lindo hesitated for a moment, then nodded curtly and turned to stalk back into the room and sit down at the window seat. Glorfindel closed the door behind him and moved to take the chair opposite Glingal. As his youngest, with a sharp sidelong glance at the silver-haired one, reached to pour Glorfindel a goblet of wine, Glorfindel nodded first at the other golden haired elf, who nodded back, "Gloredhel," and then at the silver haired one sitting with narrowed eyes by the window, "Lindo." Lindo nodded gruffly. "Did you arrive together?"

Lindo nodded sharply at Gloredhel so Glorfindel looked at his firstborn. "Gloredhel?"

"Aye. We met some weeks back," Gloredhel said. He exhaled and, unfolding his arms waved one hand at Lindo before refolding the limbs. "I met him on the road and he explained the situation to me." He looked at Glorfindel. "Have you heard from Lindir since he left to participate in the trial? Glingal told us that you and he have made arrangements to visit the court the day after tomorrow."

"I have not heard from Lindir as of yet, but your latter statement is why I wish to speak with you all now. Ingwë came to see me; he told me that he is happy for Glingal and I - and I anticipate that you two will both be welcome as well - to accompany him to the summit to watch the court in session tomorrow."

"Oh!" Glingal's face brightened. "And what about the day afterwards, as originally planned?"

"He is willing to take us on both days. I do not know about other dates as of yet, but I expect we shall have plenty of opportunities to ask him more on the subject tomorrow." Glorfindel smiled.

In the ensuing silence, he sipped a little at his wine. Then, as the silence grew and he sensed again the undercurrent of tension in it, he looked between Lindo and Gloredhel and ventured, "I see you have had a disagreement?"

Gloredhel snorted and shook his head at him. "Do not think on it, Papa." Lindo just looked away, his face tight. Glorfindel smiled and looked at Glingal who smiled back at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Glingal?"

"Well," Glingal said obligingly, "do you remember that strange message that Laiglas left you and Linden left me?"

"Aye. The one about black hair?"

Glingal's gaze shifted to look at Lindo, whose gaze had returned to observe them. On finding them looking at him, however, the other elf scowled and folded his arms and looked away again. Glingal snorted softly and looked back at Glorfindel. "Well," he continued, "Gloredhel asked him what it meant and he was unwilling to oblige him."

"As per usual," Gloredhel interceded, stirring and moving to stride over to sit down beside Lindo, not looking at his adopted brother. Lindo's mouth twitched and then the elf, after another long silence, suddenly rose and, looking intently at Glorfindel, asked, "Tomorrow at dawn? Where?"

"On the steps at the front of the halls."

Lindo nodded curtly. "Then I will take my leave of you all for tonight." He inclined his head to Glorfindel, then turned and stalked from the room. As soon as the door had shut, Glorfindel let out his held breath and felt the tension flee from his shoulders. "So we are all here."

"Aye," Glingal agreed softly. "At last."

Chapter 20

The following day, Lindir woke near dawn to find that a cool change had replaced the warm breeze. On pushing himself up and gazing around the shadowy deserted room - Silmo was again absent - he saw that outside the window it was sprinkling with rain. A spring shower? Or was this a sign of a return to the true season; the late winter that was passing over the lands beyond the mountain?

Rising and slipping from the warm sheets, he padded over to the table beside the window, which was spattered in places with an earlier shower that must have been more intense and angled slightly into the room. He ran his fingers through the quiescent lakes as he passed them, creating new tributaries, weaving new webs in the shape of water. Then, with a last glance behind him for Silmo who he imagined was either truly absent or simply hidden from his eyes, he stepped right over to the window, folded his arms, and leaned against the rocky sill so that his head was outside the window.

The valley far below, half-hidden beneath the low-lying clouds, looked almost black in the night hours. He sniffed the chill air, then wrinkled up his nose for a few moments to warm it again. It smelt like rain and frost. Above him floated more clouds, thick and dense and grey, like a shrouding, suffocating blanket, and yet not for in places he could see beyond them to the night sky, high and blue-black and nestled within the velvet - cuddled there - the sparkling gems of Elbereth. He swallowed and hunched up his shoulders.

After a moment, he looked back behind him. Then, exhaling, he looked back out of the window and down to where he could see faint lights. He could not tell in the night whether they were from Ingwe's halls or another place in the city or both or not from the city at all or perhaps a town over the hills beyond the valley, but they comforted him. He wondered what Glorfindel was doing at that moment. He wished Glorfindel were with him.

Or Sauron.

He looked back up at the stars cuddled by the velvet; admired how perfectly they lay nestled in the sky's embrace. It reminded him a little of how Sauron's cuddles - nay, even the barest of touches - seemed to mould to his body so well. Such a touch made one want to be touched, made Lindir want to be even that little bit bolder about approaching Annatar - or Sauron - in the hope of being so embraced. The simplest of touches to his hands, an arm around his waist, seemed to trespass barriers of intimacy between them in their unspoken "more than friends" relationship that Glorfindel's touches had never done. Even that night, that night in the weeks before Sauron had left for the last time to a foreign land beyond Eregion's borders, that last voyage that had seen Sauron complete his part in the ring project and expose himself as the traitor he was. All he, Lindir, had done was lean against Sauron on that garden seat. And even before Sauron had sought to put his arm around his waist, he had come undone.

There had been a sense of urgency about that night. Perhaps he had anticipated, in his subconscious, Sauron's intentions to leave. Or perhaps he was simply jealous at the adulation that the other was receiving from the jewel smith populace now that the ring project - at least on the side of the elves - had been complete. Or perhaps he had felt anxious, knowing that Sauron was intending to travel away again soon and for an unspecified length of time - perhaps forever. Certainly, he had noticed that the last of the strange pets that Sauron kept in his room had been released and everything personal associated with the jewel smith had been removed.

So he had leaned against Annatar on that garden seat and ventured, uncertainly, "When are you going to come back?"

He sensed Annatar turn his head to look down at him. "You are referring to my trip, I assume?"

"Aye." Lindir turned his face towards the heat emanating from the other's body through Annatar's tunic; inhaled deep and luxuriously.

"I am uncertain."

"You _do_ intend to return, do you not?"

"I think so."

There was a long pause. Lindir looked up at the stars above them. In the corner of his eye he observed Annatar's smooth angular expressionless face, dark against the lights of the house behind them. He swallowed. Then he turned his head and looked away, down at the white-blossomed shrubs that surrounded them in the private grove; at the holly trees that kept them hidden for the most part from any eyes from lofty buildings. He hesitated, then ventured, "I do not want you to go." He hoped Annatar would read the message in his words.

But Annatar, if he did, did not show that he had in his response. "Unfortunately, time does not stand still. It races ever beneath our feet; the world falls away just as the sun and the moon drop ever from the horizon at the closure of each daily cycle."

Lindir felt his chin tremble. That was far from the response that he had desired. Blinking back tears, he said then, his voice a little fierce. "I love you."

There was another pause. And then Annatar stirred and for a brief moment, Lindir thought the smith was going to move away and reject him. But Annatar did not. Instead, he slid his arm around him and rested his hand on Lindir's waist. Lindir exhaled and a small mewling sigh - a soft contented sound - escaped his lips unbidden.

They sat there in silence for another long pause and then Lindir, sensing Annatar looking at him, stirred and looked up to confirm his suspicions. Lindir could not discern his expression now for they were now so positioned that the light was directly behind Annatar's head. But from the gentleness with which Annatar was holding him, he thought he knew and with that sense of urgency that had taken him ever since the moment he had heard that Annatar would be travelling away again, he suddenly raised himself on the seat and pressed their lips together.

Annatar did not reject him, instead responding deftly and kindly to his kisses, so Lindir, growing bolder, crawled onto the other's lap to straddle him and threaded his hands in the other's hair before resuming pressing soft kisses to the other's face. Annatar's arms slid around him, but when Lindir, panting slightly, reached to pluck open the fastenings of Annatar's tunic, the smith had butted his face gently and shaken his head against his skin.

"Lindir, cease."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"You have done nothing wrong. You are dear to me too, but this is neither the place nor the time."

 _You are dear to me._ The message behind the words sounded more ambiguous than ever that night. Lindir had swallowed.

"Is it because I am male as well?"

"Nay."

"You do know I have already sworn myself to you?" An admittance that was, perhaps, an attempt at emotional blackmail. But Lindir felt it had to be said. He kissed Annatar's lips gently. "I will have no other; it no longer matters whether you love me or not. But if we are friends, come. How many more times must my body humiliate me before you respond to me?" Valar, even now he was coming undone. He could feel Annatar's abdomen against the burgeoning heat in his pelvis. He was already trembling on his knees. His breathing, his thoughts were feverish. He kissed Annatar more forcefully and, lowering his hand, found the other's and drew it between them to press the palm to his hardness.

When he removed his guiding hand, Annatar did not shift his palm away from his embarrassment, but instead moved to gently embrace it. His hand, cupped over the arousal, seemed to mould to its shape as it gently squeezed and massaged it. Lindir wrapped his arms around the other's neck and pressed his face against the other's shoulder, gasping, thrusting into the hand...

And then it was over and he had spilled himself. He whimpered as Annatar milked the last drops from his softening organ before shifting his hand away, back to rest it on the seat beside him. Lindir swallowed and remained still, listening to his breathing gradually slow and marvelling at the silence in the air.

Presently, Annatar said, "Lindir, you should move before you become aroused a second time." He kissed the side of Lindir's head.

Lindir blushed and swung himself back so that he was once again sitting beside Annatar, leaning against the smith, the other's arm around him. "I enjoyed that," he told him.

"I could tell."

Lindir felt more blood infuse his face. Beside him, Annatar chuckled softly.

"Will you come back after your trip?" Lindir asked then. "I keep on thinking, for some reason, that you might not return."

"I intend to come back," Annatar replied, amusement still colouring his voice.

There was a silence for a time and then Lindir said, "I know this is overbold of me, especially judging as you do not feel the same way towards me as I do towards you, but... when you come back, could we do it properly?"

"What do you mean: properly?"

"I mean, can we make love? Sleep together and become as one?"

Annatar had simply snorted and kissed his head again. "Is that a request?" he had whispered.

Lindir had nodded in reply.

"Then," Annatar had said softly, "ask me again when I return."

Now, in Silmo's room, in the waxing light Lindir looked down at the fields far below. Silmo was right. He _did_ love Sauron more than he loved Glorfindel. He had sworn himself to Sauron first, just as Finwe had done to Miriel. He had sworn himself to Sauron regardless of Sauron's feelings towards him... or perhaps in spite of those unrequited feelings. He would always consider himself Sauron's... whatever the Maia wished for him to be... a thrall, a friend, an adviser, a lover...

But just as Finwe had bound himself twice, Lindir considered himself bound twice.

But whether Glorfindel could accept Sauron even half as well as Indis had accepted Miriel was yet to be tried. Lindir - in his heart - doubted that however strong Glorfindel's love for him, the elf's limits would be sorely trespassed when the elf-lord realised both the existence and the identity of the lover he had unsuccessfully succeeded.

The sprinkling of rain suddenly grew in intensity and Lindir, with a last look up at the blanket of grey clouds, turned and retreated back to the warmth of Silmo's bed.

~*~

Glorfindel watched the rain spatter past the threshold of the open doors and onto the wooden floors of the front hall. Outside, beyond the stone steps stained grey by the wet, the city lay silent and still. Not even the linden blossoms that had fallen to the grass fluttered. They lay white and grey and brown, pinioned to the steps and grass by the downpour. Only the constant patter of rain in his ears and before his eyes, and the slowly waxing light, told him of the passing of time.

Across the silent hall, Gloredhel sat leaning forward on a chair, his forearms on his thighs. Lindo sat beside him with arms folded; his gazed fixed on the floor. Glingal stood near them.

They were still waiting on Ingwë.

He rubbed his hands and pursed his lips slightly as he felt the palm of his right one against the knuckles of his left. In his room, an hour or so before he had come here, he had pretended in his bed that Lindir had been lying beside him. He had pretended to use his right hand to draw the elf to a climax. In his mind's eye, Lindir had been shivering and shaking beneath him, clutching at him, his eyes shut, his gasps loud in the silence of the bedroom.

The sudden sound of footfalls alerted them to Ingwë's arrival and Glorfindel put his hands behind his back. As the King rounded the corner - clad in his usual robes with nothing in his hands - and saw them, he inclined his head to them before coming to Glorfindel's side.

"Follow me," he said, and then he turned and walked back into the house, down the corridor that lay opposite the front door and onwards to the throne room. Mystified, Glorfindel and his three sons followed.

Inside the throne room, Ingwë led them behind the throne to the doors that lay directly behind and which led to one of the hall's antechambers. On opening it, he went inside the dimly lit and rather deserted and dusty looking space and over to one of three doors opposite. The centremost one he now opened to reveal a rocky passageway that was filled with an air so blessed with winter that Glorfindel winced. It was so cold that frost clung to its ceiling.

A gentle, albeit icy breeze washed the air, and in the far distance they could hear the whistling of a much stronger breeze.

They shuffled inside on Ingwe's indication. Then the King stepped himself into the freezing space beside them and closed the door behind them: that seal that led back to Elvenhome. For already, as they soon would realise, they had left those lands and were intruders on lands belonging to a very different race. Over these new lands, the Customs of the Eldar were of very little consequence.

"Keep on walking," Ingwe said softly, "we are almost at the summit."

~*~

Lindir rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. Against his back and through his nightshirt, the air was cold and damp… uncomfortably so. He missed Glorfindel. Glorfindel, who, when with him, let him crawl up to his warmth, or sometimes spoon behind him and sling a warm heavy arm over him. Lindir liked the subconscious protectiveness of Glorfindel's sleeping positions when the elf slept near him. He liked the possessiveness of these positions.

He fancied he would enjoy Sauron sleeping close to him too. But Sauron had never slept close to him so Lindir had never seen the Maia's subconscious reactions to him. This was not so much because Sauron chose not to sleep beside him. It was because Sauron did not sleep. That expression that Lindir had heard to describe Sauron so many times in Imladris: that lidless ever vigilant eye that does not sleep, though untrue in the sense that Sauron only physically existed as an eye since his defeat by Isildur, was more than true with regards to Sauron's vigilance. The Maia suffered... or perhaps chose to suffer, from a perpetual insomnia.

As Lindir thought back to the bed in Sauron's cell, he wondered, suddenly, with a small smile, _I wonder if he has slept since his confinement. If he has started to catch up on all those millennia without rest._

Sighing, he twisted to pull the sheets and blankets more fully over himself, burying himself beneath their warmth.

~*~

The suddenness with which they arrived on the summit of Taniquetil surprised Glorfindel. There they stood on a thin blanket of snow just within the entrance of the rocky and twisting passageway through which they had ascended. They were shivering in the cold wind, their eyes peering for relief from the white blizzard raging outside on the summit and which blinded them from seeing anything beyond the white howling storm.

"Are there often storms on the summit?" Glingal suddenly asked of Ingwë. The King nodded.

"In the mornings," he said. "The wind is frequently fierce here. It is, after all, the home of Manwe, the Breath of Arda. It should clear up presently, though. They are also aware of our approach so we should expect someone to meet us... and here they come..."

As he trailed off, they saw a dark figure approaching swiftly through the blizzard. At first he seemed a mere shadow, but as he came closer and finally stepped into the cavern to join them, they saw he was a tall individual with silver hair and bright blue eyes and clad in blue and white. He smiled at them and handed each of them a long fur cloak. "Greetings, Ingwë, Glorfindel, Gloredhel, Glingal, and ...Lindo." He paused awhile as he gazed at Lindo whose brow creased under his gaze. "I am Eonwe and your escort. I will lead you to your rooms where you will stay until the court begins after lunch today. For now, however, we shall have to wait here until the wind has died a little; enough for you to walk without danger."

 _A strange windy welcome,_ Glorfindel thought as he pulled on his cloak, _if we are guests here._

Perhaps Eonwe read his thoughts. Regardless, the Maia glanced at him and said, "You are no longer in Elvenhome, but in the lands of the Valar and here what is ill and treacherous weather to you is harmless to us. Here, the First and Secondborn children of Eru, in addition to dwarves, are not permitted to travel alone and we request they remain in the buildings assigned to them. Our ways are often similar, but also very different to yours, and though we welcome you and think well of you, those of us less experienced with your kind may treat you in ways that cause you unease or even fear."

Lindo stirred then and ventured, "Are Laiglas and Linden, my siblings, here?"

Eonwe nodded curtly at him. "They are. I will show you to them shortly."

Glorfindel brightened on hearing that news. "What about Lindir?" he ventured then. "Will we see him?"

Eonwe looked at him and Glorfindel blinked at the piercing look in the other's eyes. "Nay."

"Why not?"

Eonwe looked at Ingwë and then back at him. He seemed to be thinking. Finally he said, still gazing sharply at him, "I will speak to the judges after the court has gathered today. For now though, let us leave the matter. I do not wish for Lindir to be distracted by thoughts of you in the courtroom today."

Glorfindel nodded. "Thank you." Beside him, Ingwë smiled tightly at Eonwe who tilted his head slightly before turning away to look back outside the cave. The storm was beginning to die a little and then, all of a sudden, it stopped and everything became very quiet and still. Glorfindel's brow creased as he looked out. In the near distance, against the parting dark clouds, rose lofty halls that seemed to be carved from the living ice and rocks and so high that their roofs seemed to be drawn from the bright blue morning sky and netted about with stars.

Oddly enough, though the blizzard had formed great piles of snow outside the passageway, there was a clear stone path thinly streaked with snow that passed straight through it from the door of the cave. Eonwe now led them down this path and after a few minutes of twisting and winding, the snow abruptly lessened and they walked out onto a wide deserted field that led straight to the doors of the largest of these buildings.

They did not, however, venture inside this hall, but instead turned at its doors to walk around it and to the building at its immediate left. There was a large archway that ran beneath this building - like a carriageway - and they now walked through this and across the wide courtyard that followed. Then they walked yet another archway and into a smaller courtyard set about with windows that glowed with light and warmth. Here, Eonwe led them to a door and ushered them into a wide wooden hallway where an elvish-looking butler and door warden greeted them.

"The butler will show you to your rooms," Eonwe said. "Breakfast already awaits you there." Then he looked at Lindo. "Come with me. I will take you to your brother and sister. As for the rest of you, someone will come to collect you at the end of lunch to show you to the courtroom." Then he and Lindo left.

~*~

The morning passed slowly for both Glorfindel and Lindir. Glorfindel spent much of it with Glingal and Gloredhel in their rooms: a connected suite of modestly furnished blue and white wooden panelled rooms. It was too cold to spend much time outside and if there were communal areas nearby in the building where they might meet the other elven members of the courtroom audience who lived behind other closed doors in the house, the butler did not show them to them.

So Glorfindel spent the morning talking with Glingal and Gloredhel. Reminiscing on their lives before Valinor, wondering aloud at the mysteries of this strange snowy, quiet, and apparently deserted land on which they found themselves, and speaking of their adventures since having arrived in Valinor to each other. They wondered also at Laiglas and Lindo and Linden's whereabouts... Ingwe's as well, for the King had also disappeared.

As for Lindir, he spent most of his morning asleep. Silmo had still not returned. It was late in the morning when the air in the room felt warm and no longer chill when he finally chose to rise and padded to the bathroom to soak and milk himself in the warm flowing waters. As he lay there on the seat and watched the steam slowly rising from the waters, he wondered what Sauron was doing at that moment. Sleeping? Giving evidence? Speaking to a visitor? Or - more indulgent to his own fantasies - thinking of him? He smiled as he thought on this little thought and then, as he continued to think on it, felt his smile fade.

The court would most likely speak to him on Annatar's last days in Eregion... or even begin to discuss the war. He wondered what Celebrimbor had told the court last night. He wondered what they would ask of him this afternoon.

He raised his right hand and frowned at the wrinkles that had formed on the pads of his fingers. How quickly Eregion had fallen. How swiftly it had crumbled to fire and ruin. That place that had become home to so many of his most precious memories now lived only in memory. The place as it stood now was ghastly and changed beyond recognition. How much worse this feeling be to the jewel smiths? To Celebrimbor, who had stood there on his doorstep and watched his efforts burn so easily - so quickly - beneath such callousness.

So many captains spoke of there always being hope in the face of such overwhelming odds. To them, who had foreseen their own demise... and Valar, Lindir had _seen_ the change in colour in Celebrimbor's face that day that Sauron had put on the one ring and they had realised his terrible plan, how could they hold hope? To those of Celebrimbor's house who had remained to support their lord to the last, they _knew_ that they were going to die. Only those who had been mad could have thought that there was hope. But then again, they had to have been mad to stay there. To have stayed to attempt to hold off Sauron for as long as possible, to gain those who _had_ escaped as much time as possible.

But however noble their intentions, their fighting had looked anything but noble. Hysteria had lain behind their eyes and actions and it grew as the swift battle went on. It ate ceaselessly and horribly at their skills and sanity. It made some of them lose their resolve even after Sauron's army had completely surrounded them, when it was already too late to leave. And as Sauron had advanced ever closer, whatever blind courage any of them had had left had slowly been consumed until they had been left clad only in that terrible sense of helpless naked terror before his might.

In the bath, Lindir washed his face clean of tears and then, lips pursed and face pale, he rose and climbed out of the bath.

Chapter 21

In 1695, two years after war was declared between Elves and Sauron, Sauron took his gathered forces and invaded Eriador by way of the Gap of Rohan. Two years later, there was little left of Eregion and the forces of Sauron spread like a black plague across Eriador to the very doorstep of Lindon. The folk of Eriador would have fallen then and been taken completely, if not for the sudden arrival of the armament of Tar-Minastir of Númenor.

When Silmo returned at noon, Lindir, though he was indeed curious to know where the Maia had been, did not venture to ask. The sight of the servant of Lórien, Master of Dreams, reminded him of their conversation yesterday and made him uneasy. Silmo, in turn, did not say much to him save to ask him if he had eaten and to comment that he looked unwell.

"Your colour is not good," he said to Lindir, who was sitting at the table and drinking water from a wooden drinking cup, his feet propped up on the other chair. "You are not hungry? There is food in the cupboard behind you."

 _I know that there is food in the cupboard behind me and you know that I know,_ Lindir thought. Eyes half-closed he leaned back in his chair.

Silmo grunted softly and pulled out the chair on which Lindir's bare feet were propped. Lindir obligingly removed them and Silmo sat down. Lindir turned his face to look out of the window - at the cool bright clear blue sky and further across to the Pelóri Mountains. He wondered what the view was like for those eagles that nested on the eastward side of the mountains, if indeed any nested on that side. How far could they see?

Across from him, Silmo sighed.

~*~

After lunch, it was not Eönwë that came to collect them, but Ingwë, who said that their escort was awaiting them in the courtyard. They had already suspected that such was the case because Glingal had reported not long before Ingwë's appearance that there were a number of elves silently gathering in a large group on the snowy lawn outside. All were clad in the thick cloaks that they had themselves been given by Eönwë on their arrival at the summit. Quickly and quietly they rose, donned their cloaks, and followed the King of the Vanyar kindred out of the suite and down to exit the house. On seeing Ingwë, some of those already in the courtyard bowed or curtsied to him and all moved aside to give the King and those with him room, gazing curiously at them. Ingwë led Glorfindel, Gloredhel, and Glingal a little to one side of the group, before halting there.

Lindo, Gloredhel pointed out then, was not with them. "Where is he?" the elf asked of Ingwë.

"With Laiglas and Linden," was the short reply.

"And where are they?" Gloredhel pressed.

"With Eönwë, I believe," Glingal replied, before Ingwë could answer. He looked at Ingwë, who nodded curtly. "But Ingwë, why are they with Eönwë and not with us? Or do you not know the answer to that mystery?" When Ingwë nodded again, he smiled.

Glorfindel puffed on his hands and watched his breath mist on the frosty air. Above them, the sky was clear and blue, very different from how they had looked earlier that morning. He wondered, on looking at the buildings of ice that towered above them on all sides, which of them was the courthouse and in which, if indeed Lindir was being kept here on the summit and not someone else on the mountain, his lover was imprisoned. But none of the silent buildings offered any answers.

He looked at the other elves standing in the courtyard. Most of them were of plainly obvious kindreds. He did not recognise any of them, but this did not surprise him. He had not been on Middle-earth, after all, in the Second Age of the Sun.

There were a few elves standing on the margins of the main group or in their own little clans positioned slightly away from the main that did not look as if they quite belonged to any of the kindreds. He wondered where they came into the picture and what had earned them the right to be here. Relatives of witnesses? Maiar and not elves at all? Elves who had some other reason to be afforded the right to watch the proceedings of the trial?

He had his answer when, after another group of elves exited the house, some of them stirred and spoke to them in soft yet firm voices, instructing them to follow them. Glorfindel looked to Ingwë for instruction, as did his two sons, and when the King moved to follow, they moved after him on a path that retraced that which they had taken into the courtyard that morning, and the courtyard before it.

As they came out of the carriageway that ran beneath the building from the lawns outside, Glorfindel noticed that though the grounds were once again deserted and silent, there were signs in the thin snow of many others having passed on the paths near them. Footprints that were large and small and faint and deep. Some looked like animal prints. Others looked like the trail of a cloak behind a tread so light as to leave no mark upon the snow.

All of these footprints led to the doors of the largest building; the one that had greeted them on their approach from the cavernous passageway through which they had come to the summit. Now, the doors, carved from the living ice, gaped open to them, and from within a warm silvery light and excited chatter streamed.

"Stay close to us," their guides now informed them as they led them to the broad white stone steps that ascended to the mouth of the hall. "If you become lost or must leave the galleries assigned to us for some reason, ask assistance of the attendants that stand at the doors of each gallery and which are clad in white and blue." Then they turned away, ascended the steps, and led them into the crowded white and blue stone entrance hall.

Once inside, their guides led them down the vast crowded hallway to their right on a weaving, twisting path through the Maiar that were there mingling and laughing and chatting with others of their own race. Glorfindel wondered, as he squeezed between two particularly splendid and terrible scaly creatures that looked as if they were more familiar with an aquatic environment to a terrestrial one, if they were waiting for permission to enter the courtroom or if they were not invited.

He swiftly had his answer when the guides showed them through one of a number of large heavy doors that lined the left side of the corridor and led them up another and very long series of white stone steps. Indeed, it was so long and so steep that it appeared to lead not up one story or even two or three, but up four or five heights. When, finally, the steps ceased and they arrived at the top, Glorfindel heard Glingal beside him intake his breath in an audible hiss. As for himself, he stared in silence, amazed.

On either side and before and behind them stretched many rows of white and blue and silver stone seats. Perhaps there were some thirty or so rows of them, all leading right up to the stone curtained walls that enclosed the gallery on three sides, identical to every other of the deserted galleries that lay in a great almost complete circle about the whole hall. It was not these, however, that filled him with wonder so much as what lay beyond the white stone balustrade before the very front row, the row to which Ingwë now led them to sit, ushering Gloredhel and Glingal before him.

For across that barrier, as Glorfindel soon saw, lay a space so vast, so deep, that he could not discern the base; it was like a black chasm that had been rent in the floor beneath their feet. His emotions on viewing it were indescribable.

For just as there was no ceiling; not even the sky over their heads, there was no floor. Instead, a deep and most unsettling blackness gaped at them from both sides. A blackness that was darker and voider than anything Glorfindel had ever known. There was a dreadful nothingness there and yet an awe-inspiring sense of possibility and majesty. Arda itself appeared to have been rent open.

"That is what lies beyond Arda," Ingwë told him, touching his arm. "Come, sit down."

"How do people stand in that space?"

"You mean the floor? It is a thin film of water stretched upon a hard material woven by the hands of Elbereth. It is merely a reflection of the world beyond Arda that stretches from the ceiling and everything upon it: look at how the tall thrones of the Valar near that wall are reflected in the waters. The ceiling is a common feature of more than one of the buildings on this summit," Ingwë informed. "You saw that some of the buildings outside have roofs that draw from the sky? Those buildings are connected to the uttermost borders of this world. This is, after all, the place where Ilúvatar may converse regularly with Lord Manwë."

Glorfindel nodded slowly and sat. As he lowered his gaze from the ceiling, he turned it towards what lay upon the floor. On either side and slightly off the centre of the reflective floor lay two small circular roofless pergola structures that were raised about a foot from the floor and whose balustrades were identical to those at the front of the viewing galleries. A stone seat with no back to enable the occupant to sit facing in any direction they pleased was fixed in the centre of each. As Glorfindel gazed upon them, he realised that there was no clear way in or out of the structure though one could easily climb over the rail.

"What are those seating areas?" he ventured, suspecting already their purpose, but also supposing it too unconfined an area for a prisoner. Perhaps they were for witnesses - two of them - Lindir and... someone else.

"One is for the defendant: Sauron. The other is for the witness."

"Ai, they sit opposite each other?"

"Nay. Lindir's medium will sit opposite Sauron, not Lindir himself. Lindir is not here in person. He cannot see what transpires in this court and to my knowledge has not even seen this hall yet. He uses a medium who sits both with him in his room and here as well in his guise and who clarifies his memories for presentation to the court."

"So where is Lindir? In another building?"

"I do not know."

Glorfindel looked steadily at Ingwë for a few long moments. Then, finally, judging that his grandfather was probably speaking the truth, he exhaled and looked back at the hall. Across from their gallery, he could see some of the other galleries slowly filling with other members of the audience. All of the other audience members appeared to be Maiar.

"It seems strange to me, considering the length of time that Sauron spent on Middle-earth and not amongst the Ainur that the Maiar have such interest in watching his trial," he commented then.

"Perhaps. But they knew him from millennia before he ventured to Middle-earth and entered Morgoth's service. He has relatives of his own, he has friends, students, colleagues..."

"Friends?' Glorfindel echoed doubtfully.

"Since I began to attend these trials, I have learned to appreciate that even the Maiar were young once, Glorfindel. Sauron was once the most esteemed, skilled, and powerful servant of Lord Aulë. Such a position does not afford an individual anonymity. In his own way, as Eönwë tells me, Sauron is an outstanding member of his race and the knowledge that he has gained over his years in Middle-earth has only continued to elevate him among his peers."

"Though what kind of knowledge that is and of what use it could be, one has to wonder," Glorfindel muttered. He folded his arms. "Causing male pregnancy, creating warmongering creatures from the children of Ilúvatar, the invention of the spiky range in weaponry..."

At the last, Ingwë blinked and Glingal, who was sitting on Ingwë's other side snorted and began to laugh softly. But Ingwë quickly sobered them both with his following words.

"Do not be so swift to mock, Glorfindel. Without Sauron, the beauty and joy that you saw and felt in Lothlórien, the Havens, and Imladris would never have been more than a dream in Celebrimbor's eyes. Without Sauron, we would know much less about the realms uninhabited and unexplored by elves, for Sauron saw and researched - even if his designs caused ill to those folk - more lands and folk than the elves have ever sought to explore. More importantly, he made this information public in ways that Námo and Manwë never obliged us. And on a level that has still not been addressed by this court, but which I have learned on questioning the reasons behind why Aulë and Yavanna are not judges, but instead sit in the galleries, without Sauron, the dwarves might have stayed as Aulë's dream. It is by Sauron the servant's encouragement and Ilúvatar's benevolence that they came to be." He pursed his lips. "But perhaps things would have been much better indeed without Sauron's input. Or perhaps it was by Ilúvatar's design that things did not go according to his plan. After all, Ilúvatar sent Melkor to Arda even though he knew Melkor was and would always be a discordant presence on the world."

There was a long pause. Then Glorfindel ventured. "You are daring to say all of this in Ilúvatar's presence and the presence of the Valar?"

Ingwë just smiled. "Why? Do you find me daring? Do I remind you of yourself?"

Glorfindel blinked, surprised. "You do."

Ingwë snorted softly and pulled his cloak closer about his small frame. "Well, that is no surprise, considering I am your grandfather. You take after me; you always have done. It is a useful trait to me as well; little folk often endear themselves to their superiors by behaving ridiculously bold before those much more powerful than themselves."

Glorfindel snorted and smiled. "Have you met Bilbo?"

Ingwë smiled back. "I have."

~*~

"Are you certain you do not wish to eat anything today?" Silmo asked once more as he cleared around the table and shifted the seat in which Lindir usually sat for questioning a little away from the table. Lindir looked up from where he stood by the bed, dressing himself in a clean robe. He shook his head, his face slack. Silmo's brow knit.

"Lindir, you did not eat anything yesterday morning and you ate very little last night."

"I am not hungry." _It is also your fault that I became so upset as to lose my appetite last night._

Silmo pursed his lips and held his gaze for a few moments. Then Lindir turned his head away and returned his attention to smoothing down the front of the robe for a few moments. Then he let his arms drop and hang slackly for a few moments before suddenly bending to pick up his comb from where it lay beside his discarded robe on the bed sheets. Lips pursed, he ran it through his still slightly damp hair, enjoying the feel of the wooden prongs raking against his scalp and neck. Then, after pushing his hair back over his shoulders for the last time, he walked over to the chair and sat down, putting his hands limply in his lap. "I am ready," he said, and he waited for Silmo to enter him and for the nausea to take him once more.

~*~

"Lindo, Linden," Gloredhel said suddenly, and then, a more subdued and reluctant, "...Laiglas."

Glorfindel turned around and frowned when he saw his three stepchildren descending the steps to take the three empty seats beside him. Laiglas stalking, unsmiling, at the front of the group.

Linden's hair, as he had thought - and Lindo's too now, _was_ black indeed. Blacker... darker than he had ever seen on an elf; almost as dark as the nothingness that yawned up at them from the depths of the hall stretched before them.

Laiglas, to his unease, was the one who chose to take the seat immediately beside him. The elf dropped gracefully into the seat, crossed his legs, and nodded curtly and formally at him. "Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded back, his eyes flicking between his hair and Linden's and Lindo's... "Why have you changed the colour of your hair?" he ventured to the two latter elves. He blinked when, behind him on Ingwë's other side, he heard Gloredhel venture the same question at the exactly the same time.

Oddly, Linden and Lindo simply looked at Laiglas, who exchanged an unreadable look with them before turning his head and meeting Glorfindel and Gloredhel's gaze. He blinked slowly - his long eyelashes for a few moments lowering to cuddle his deathly pale cheeks before flying away, a small thin smile on his face. Glorfindel thought he looked smug. "They felt it suited them."

"How did you do it? Did you dye it?"

"Perhaps they will tell you afterwards," Laiglas said, replying again for his blood siblings. His smile widened when Glorfindel's frown grew deeper.

Suddenly a loud bell echoed through the hall from the direction of the high thrones near the wall and the odd moment was broken. Laiglas's head snapped to look back at the hall. Glorfindel looked as well and observed a number of figures that he recognised as being among those guises used by certain of the Valar. They did not enter the hall, but rather... just appeared on the thrones, at first their bodies appeared transparent to the eyes, and then as the moments passed they grew more opaque. Elbereth was easily the most recognisable for she was by far the most beautiful and her dress shone like the stars. Then Manwë, with his long deep blue mantle and flowing silver hair. There also sat Oromë and Nessa and Nienna... Námo was conspicuously absent. Yavanna and Aulë, Glorfindel noticed, were sitting in the gallery behind the thrones. Opposite the thrones, on the wall facing them where there was no gallery, a wide white smooth wall stretched.

"Where is Námo?" Glorfindel asked. "Is he not a judge?"

"He is a judge, but he rarely shows his face here in the hall." Ingwë turned his head then and nodded at the boxes for the witness and the defendant. "And there is Lindir."

Glorfindel looked and as he saw that Ingwë spoke truly and a figure shaped like Lindir was indeed forming - like the judges - in one of the boxes. As the figure grew more opaque, he felt a quickening of pace in his heart and a smile spring to his face. But then, when the figure was opaque and he saw that Lindir was glancing around nervously, lips moving with a voice inaudible, he felt his smile fade.

Lindir looked unwell. He looked paler and thinner than Glorfindel remembered he had been when they had parted only a few days ago. Why? What had happened? He swallowed and shifted forward on his seat, legs slightly apart, his elbows leaned on his thighs, hands clasped together and hanging between the gap.

"What events are they covering in the trial at the moment?" he asked no one in particular, not removing his gaze from Lindir. His spouse was looking around with a gaze that seemed to see things in the hall that Glorfindel could not perceive. Perhaps this was a sign that Lindir could not see the hall indeed, as Ingwë had said, and was looking at aspects of a room to which they in turn were not privy.

"I believe they are still covering events in Eregion," Ingwë said.

"The death of Celebrimbor and Lindir's capture by Sauron the deceiver of the Mírdain," Laiglas supplied at the same time, his voice softer. There was a pause and then he suddenly stirred again and said, his voice coloured with an emotion that Glorfindel could not read and which made him frown, "Behold! Sauron himself now shows his face to us."

Glorfindel had never laid eyes on Sauron before; he had only seen him in battle clad in his black helm and armour and that menace that was more effective in war than any kind of metal. That and Annatar's false face and the various faces of the shape-shifter lieutenant of Morgoth that had inhabited Tol Sirion as depicted in paintings. He did not know what was the Maia's preferred guise. He did not know whether it was humanoid, beast, or something else - more elusive to description. Few had seen the guise Sauron adopted within his own halls and survived. Even fewer remembered it. Even fewer told of it.

He looked down at the box opposite where Lindir sat looking uncomfortable. As he did so and as he set his gaze on the tall slender man gazing across at Lindir with grey eyes half-closed, his long black hair braided and hanging heavy down the back of his black robes, he felt a numbness come over him. That hair... that strange elegant way in which the Maia sat...

_That face... that body language..._

Eyes a little wide, face a little taut, he turned his head slowly, cautiously, so gently so as to alert Laiglas as little as possible to his movement, and looked at his eldest adopted son.

The same face as Sauron gazed back at him. Only, on Laiglas's face, there was also a slight pull to the corners of the elf's lips and a chill amusement in the other's black eyes. And as Glorfindel gazed at him, behind Laiglas, two other faces also now turned to look back at him.

All of their features seemed almost exactly the same.

Chapter 22

There was a niggling feeling at the back of Lindir's mind. As the time for questioning came ever closer and he listened, in his mind, to Silmo's description of the filling courtroom and the arrival of Eonwe, his thoughts turned ever to the vow. The vow that he had told the court that he had exchanged with Annatar in the weeks before the jewel smith had left Eregion for the last time, and what he increasingly was recalling had transpired afterwards on Sauron's return.

He had told the court on the first day of questioning that their relationship had been, as far as relationships could be, innocent; strictly limited to kisses and embraces. But already he had shown them that it had been more than that. Sauron had done more than embrace him on that day and now, Lindir wondered if perhaps Silmo had read more of his deepest memories than had yet surfaced to his own consciousness. Indeed, increasingly when he sat before the court he recalled memories to them that he did not remember until that moment when Silmo prised them from the depths of his mind. He swallowed and shifted uneasily in his chair in spite of Silmo's requests that he remain still and calm. Perhaps this was why Silmo had addressed him yesterday and forced him to compare the depth of his relationships with Glorfindel and Sauron. Or perhaps it had been that argument that had prompted this unease and the current stream of images that had been surfacing in his mind all night. He had thought them dreams until now. Vague, warm, dreams built on fantasies with no truth in their origin. He had thought them before. He had dreamt them before. But they had never been so vivid before and their context had never been quite so plausible.

Maybe he had lied to the court indeed.

 _What do they do, Silmo,_ he ventured then, _to witnesses who claim one thing and then claim another, not because they are lying, but because they did not recall the whole truth on the first telling?_

 _"It is not an uncommon issue with witnesses and is nothing new in this trial,"_ Silmo replied, his voice unexpectedly soft and gentle. Lindir had expected a more threatening tone. _"But this is why we ask that witnesses recall their memories and use multiple witnesses. It is well recognised that stories may be altered in the telling and fantasies may intrude on the truth. However, that is where it becomes my job to determine what is real and what is not and to guide the witnesses towards the conservative truth rather than the radical."_

_Have you had witnesses who have tried to recall fantasies?_

_"I would not call them fantasies. Minor details or sometimes small exaggerations that, when shown on a screen, can easily be picked out when memories are compared or simply by the lack of supporting material in the memory. You have had a few. But as of yet I think you have been an admirable witness based on what you recall in your mind. You have chosen relatively suitable memories."_

_But so far I have shown very little that relates to Sauron's involvement with the rings._

_"You have shown enough. We have other, better witnesses, who saw more of Annatar's work and relations with regards to the smitheries than you did. Our interest with you lies predominantly in your relationship with and what you saw of Sauron and increasingly, your knowledge as to his male pregnancy experiments. You are his witness and so we are obliged to show you to the court. He gave us no specifics as to what you saw and did while in thraldom so we can only ask you questions determined through the hearsay of other witnesses and your answers to previous questions."_

_I seem like a very strange witness if you do not know what I have witnessed and therefore, how to question me._

_"Uncovering the truth, especially a truth that is obscured beneath thick clouds and blocked from sharp winds and thus, our observation, is never a simply task, Lindir."_

_But the accounts of witnesses who were thralls with and in addition to me..._

_"How much do you think your fellow thralls - the orcs too - really knew about Sauron's motivations and the politics and purpose of Mordor and Dol Guldur and all his other realms? How long did they live?"_

_Most of them, not long at all. But then again, I do not know for they were constantly moving in and out of the places where I lived and remember that I, sometimes, had very little consciousness of the passing of time, let alone knowledge of the date._

Silmo was silent a little. Then he said, _"Eonwe is ready with his questions now. Come. The first question is what was your reaction to Celebrimbor's announcement that Annatar's true identity was Sauron and that he was a traitor of the realm?"_

Lindir hesitated as he considered the question. Finally, he said, _I was confused. I did not believe that Annatar was Sauron. I... I could not believe it._

_"You did not believe Celebrimbor's word and the word of other authorities living in Eregion at the time? Celeborn, for example?"_

_I did not think they were lying, if that is what you mean, but I did think that their source of information must have been untrue. I believed that Annatar was one person and Sauron another person._

_"So you believed that Annatar was one person and Sauron another person; no relation between the two at all?"_

_Aye, that is exactly my meaning._

_"What evidence convinced you that they were the same person?"_

_Well... I continued to believe that there was no relation between Annatar and Sauron even after Sauron had destroyed Eregion._

_"You thought this even after you were taken captive?"_

_Aye, I did. I only realised the truth when... when he took me for questioning on the location of the rings: the nine, the seven, the three..._

_"He questioned all the captives?"_

_Aye... ah, nay._ Lindir shook his head. _He only questioned those who he thought were close enough to Celebrimbor that they might know of the rings' whereabouts. I, as Erestor's assistant and Annatar's chief informer, fell in that group._

"This included Celebrimbor himself?"

Lindir nodded. _Aye._ He swallowed.

_"When were you captured?"_

_It was on the night that Eregion fell, a few days after I had returned from the last escaping party. As I have already explained, they sent me back because I had been friends with Annatar and they thought I was a spy who would continue to betray them._ Lindir paused and exhaled before continuing. _After I returned, Celebrimbor employed me as a messenger between captains stationed on the walls of the city and the main house, which is where everyone increasingly gathered as first the north-walls - for Sauron came around and attacked there first - and then the south-walls - were destroyed and we had to pull back. On that night, I was captured whilst retreating from one of the walls. Everything was so confused. One of the captains had fallen and we were pulling back to the next line of defences. Suddenly we were surrounded by orcs. We were taken to the north-lying stables, which they had seized early on with some other buildings. There we were tied up and left under guard until Sauron came to see us the next day. He took some others and I for questioning and it was then, as we left the stables, that I saw that Eregion was in ruins and that we had, as foreseen, lost completely._

_"And that was when you realised that Sauron was Annatar?"_

_I had always, in some part of me, known that I was probably wrong and that Sauron was Annatar. I was denial, however, of these thoughts until Sauron laid his hands on me and touched me and spoke to me as Annatar did to me. Then I could deny it no longer for I felt... connected to him and the bond that I had sworn to him was still there._

_"You still loved him; in spite of what he had done and what you had seen him do before your own eyes?"_

Lindir just nodded.

 _"Speak for the court Lindir,"_ Silmo urged.

_Aye, I did not understand it myself, but I still loved him._

_"What happened after you were taken captive? What happened at your questioning? Did you see Celebrimbor?"_

_He..._

_"Show us."_

Lindir's brow creased and he swallowed before he spoke. "It was the morning after the attack when I saw him; he came to see us."

~*~

In the hall and before the court, Glorfindel observed the upper half of the blank wall; that tall wall on which no galleries intruded and before which no seats were set, suddenly light up in a strip from side to side and a picture slowly form upon it. It was a picture that startled with its clarity and depth and detail. As he leaned forward with the crowd to gaze closer at it, he suddenly realised, with a gasp, that the picture was moving... and that on the occasion, he could see feather light bristles hanging blurred like the arms of thatched eaves over the very top of the picture.

It was a memory in truth, he realised, and seen from Lindir's eyes indeed. Then he suddenly smiled for it amused him that Lindir's memories were intruded on by the elf's long eyelashes. And then as he continued to watch the moving picture and came to understand that Lindir was describing his prison in Eregion to them - at first in silence and then gradually there came sounds too from the memory - his smile faded once more.

The stable still looked like a stable. There they lay or sat, huddled, bound, mostly naked, a few lucky ones with a bed of straw, most without. The panels in the sides of the stalls had for the most part been knocked through and lay in pieces near their silent forms. Save for one small nearby side door that appeared to lead to a workshop, the main doors out of the building lay far from where they were gathered and all of these exits were well guarded by hulking, well-fed looking orcs. There were no signs of horses, which was no surprise to Glorfindel. Either they had been set loose by their own owners before Sauron's onslaught or they had been taken for the orcs' own larders. Horses did not last long with orcs; that was a fact.

From the perspective of the picture and the occasional glance downwards, it appeared that Lindir was sitting not by the wall furthest from the main door where through the windows was visible the thin light of morning, but at the back of one of the stalls immediately beside it. He sat pressed between a body that was sitting with its back against the torn panel and a few pieces of the panel's splintered body upon the straw. He sat with his knees to his chest and his arms, which were bound with leather at the wrist, tucked before him. He seemed to be one of the lucky few who had found himself a bed of straw.

One of the bodies that Lindir's gaze seemed to be fascinated with - at least from the frequencies of his gaze - was the body in the stall across from him. It lay sprawled in the straw, head down, unmoving. Glorfindel wondered if it were dead for it did not move. Those huddled elves beside it did not offer any answers as to its condition either. Their appearances told only of their own condition: harassed, unkempt, exhausted, and unhappy - like the rest of them. Dark circles lay under their eyes, an indication of the extent of their building distress over the past few days - weeks - months, and the consequential sleeplessness that came with it. Glorfindel wondered what they had heard, trapped in the stables, over the course of the night. He wondered what it smelt like in there. He wondered what Lindir was feeling: physically and emotionally. Cold? Grieving? Fearful? He wondered what he had missed from the elf's previous appearances before the court. Was the straw wet or dry, new or old beneath him? Did the air smell more of the smoke and fire outside - for he knew from lore that Eregion had burned as well as been torn asunder, or did the lingering smell of horses still dominate?

The main doors suddenly banged open; it crashed against the wall as it flew back. An orc strode in, calmly and firmly pushing a fiercely wriggling and cursing elf before it. Some of those in the stables stirred slightly. Perhaps the elf's passionate resistance roused their own choked wrath against their captors a little. As the pair neared Lindir's stall, though, Lindir, after glancing sharply at the elf's angry face, looked then at the orc, who until then Glorfindel had assumed was simply taking the verbal abuse in his stride. But then, through Lindir's eyes, he observed very clearly the orc reach down to draw a cruel looking forked knife from his belt. As he pushed the elf into Lindir's stall, he suddenly flicked it upright in his hand and drove it into the elf's back to drag it upwards, tearing the flesh of the elf's back in two thin lines. The elf choked and abruptly ceased his complaining as he began to cough up blood, but the orc was apparently not finished with him. No expression on his face, the orc yanked out the fork and, gripping the elf by the back of his head, propelled the elf forward to smash the other's skull with terrific, shaking force against the back wall of the stall. There was an audible, sickening crunch and Lindir's own vision jerked suddenly as he started.

The orc released his victim. As the body fell to sprawl in a limp heavy heap across the splintered pieces of the panel beside Lindir, he turned his head to scan all of them, the blood-coated fork in his hand outstretched towards them. His eyes, for a moment, met Lindir's eyes. Lindir quickly looked away. The orc did the same with various other elves in the stables. Then, with a low snort, the orc turned and strode away to exit the building.

Not long afterwards the door opened again. There was a low murmur of voices and the clinking of armour as the orcs moved. Lindir, on looking up, straightened slightly.

Sauron had entered, a few scuttling orcs following him. He looked little like the black-haired gaunt character currently sitting down in the defendant's box. Now he seemed taller and broader and was clad head to foot in the thick heavy black armour that had become his trademark garb in Glorfindel's eyes from the many paintings that he had seen of the Maia on the battlefields of Arda. Not even his face was visible beneath his helmet. He strode down the long corridor of the stables, those few orcs with him tailing. At the entrance to each pair of stalls he paused to turn his head from side to side and gaze at the faces of those huddled within. Occasionally he seemed to deem a face worthy of his attentions, for he would gesture towards the elf and the orcs would come forward and help the elf up, undo the bonds on his or her ankles, and lead him or her away to stand by the doors.

When Sauron arrived at Lindir's stall, he glanced over the fallen body first and then turned his head to look at Lindir. He pointed and the orcs came forward. The picture on the wall of the courtroom jostled as Lindir was ushered to the doors to assemble with the few others chosen. Then as Sauron returned and left the stables, they were escorted out behind him. Glorfindel heard some of the prisoners - including at one point Lindir - yelp as they were poked and prodded onwards by the orcs around them.

Outside, under the thick grey clouds, much of the city had crumbled and burned throughout the course of the night. The trees, for the most part, now stood as black stumps, a few of which were still glowing and smoking. The smoke drifted across their path on the cold morning breeze.

The ground lay cracked and stained before and around their feet. Bodies lay all about on the stone tiles: mostly elven, some burning, some blackened, some simply untouched and covered in places with drying blood. Glorfindel heard Lindir sniff audibly, as if he were inhaling, for what could well be the first time in his life, the cloying smell of burning flesh.

Amidst the devastation there stood still a few buildings that were little blemished. These, Glorfindel realised as they approached their guarded flanks, were the chief houses of Eregion. Lindir in particular seemed occupied with gazing at the tallest and loftiest of these houses, and it was to this house that they were now led. As they entered under the archway, Lindir looked aside to observe the crumbled remains of what appeared to have been the emblem of Celebrimbor's house torn off the front. It now lay crushed upon the stony path.

They were pushed inside the building and down a leftwards hallway that looked as if it had been swept clean. As they passed the corridors that led off from this passageway, Lindir happened to look down some of them to observe the deserted and ruined passageways, each stripped of anything of any value. Rubbish and debris lay in piles upon the floors. In one of them he saw a group of orcs carrying a heavy trunk of unknown contents - assumedly valuables - towards them. A rough push and order for him to continue walking from the orc beside him turned his attention back to focussing on watching his feet on the white stone floor, stained a little with the blood of one of the elves walking in front whose feet were wounded. When Lindir glanced at the elf in question, Glorfindel pressed his lips tightly together in sympathy when he saw the elf's extensive bruises and shallow cuts, which covered his entire body.

Suddenly they were pushed down one of these connected corridors and herded into a windowless room lit by two lamp sconces on the wall near the door. From the look of the rich thickly woven red carpets, deep red reclining seats, red curtains, and still gleaming wooden cabinets, it appeared to have once been a sort of sitting room that had substituted its want for a view rather handsomely with luxuries. Now, under Sauron's command it seemed to have taken on a similar purpose for they were pushed towards the seats and instructed to sit. Obediently, subdued, they began to do so and perched themselves on the seats in huddled groups under the sharp eyes of the orcs standing guard at the doors.

Lindir wedged himself between two dark haired elves on one of the recliners. One of them was the one with the torn feet and he shot Lindir a tight fleeting smile through bleeding lips as Lindir approached. From his extensive musculature, Glorfindel presumed he was a warrior of some sort and one who held some authority on the field. Perhaps he was even one of the captains who had guarded the wall. Lindir looked back at the door and observed Sauron standing there with an orc and one of the elves that Sauron had picked out and apparently wished to see first. The door fell closed upon them.

In the hushed silence, those who still had not found themselves seats seated themselves on the recliners. One of them, the last one to sit - a stout Noldo, discovered that he was without a place on the shared recliners. He looked between the empty recliner nearest the guarded door and the shared recliners for a few moments, and then, with an uncertain glance at the watching guards, moved to take the empty recliner, his shoulders slumped. One of the orcs kicked the foot of his recliner, causing the seat and its occupant to start, and laughed harshly. Then the silence returned and they waited. Nervous, cold, scared. Around them, save for the sounds of movement in distance passageways, the house was eerily quiet.

As the minutes churned by, Lindir looked at the faces of the elves around him. Most of them were Noldorin and there was a noble light in some of their eyes that told of high blood. Glorfindel wondered what Sauron wanted with them. He had read in the lore of Eregion's fall that Celebrimbor had been the only one of the residents of Eregion that Sauron had dealt with to any significant extent. Did this mean that all of the elves in this room - save for Lindir - would not survive this place to tell of what was about to happen to them?

And for that matter, where was Celebrimbor? Had the elf-lord of Eregion already divulged the location of the seven and the nine to Sauron as claimed by the lore masters? Was he still alive?

And then, suddenly, a scream rent the air and the uncertain peace was shattered. Quite close, perhaps only next door, another stricken cry rang out. It was closely followed by a choked gibbering, a language that all of them recognised as their own, but yet not. For how could one speak the High Elven tongue with such carelessness? He sounded drunk. He sounded unable to draw breath between his gasps. He sounded terrified. Lindir heard one of the nearby elves on the other shared recliner draw in a sharp breath, the air hissing loudly and shakily between his teeth.

The silence returned. It lingered. And then the door opened and the orc that had been with Sauron earlier was standing there and pointing at one of the waiting elves. They left. Then, after another time, the orc returned and picked another elf. Then again. Then again. The picture appeared to fragment slightly, as if the passing of time had been sped up for the benefit of the court. Slowly the sitting room emptied. Every now and again a sickening cry would rent the air that turned Glorfindel's blood cold. That made the breath in his throat seize up. That made his hands tense on the arms of his seat.

And then the shared recliner opposite them was nearly empty and the wounded elf beside Lindir was limping away. Soon after he left, there was the sound of a sudden loud blow from next door. Lindir flinched and all of a sudden a fuzziness came over the picture that was focussed on the elf's bloody footprints on the carpet. Glorfindel himself flinched at the noise and beside him, Ingwe did the same. _Valar,_ he thought, as he observed Lindir wipe at the tears clouding the vision with his bound hands, _What is going to happen to Lindir? What saved him from this horror?_

The door opened again. Another elf - not Lindir this time - was summoned. And then there were only two elves left in the room. And then it was only Lindir left. Lindir sat with his elbows on his knees, leaned forward so that he was looking at his feet. They looked lily pale in the flickering light from the lamps. Lindir had turned his feet so that he was pigeon-toed and his big toes touched each other. They looked smoother than Glorfindel remembered. Younger. Fresher. Suddenly he wondered what Lindir had looked like as a youth and how it compared to now.

The door opened and Lindir quickly looked up to see not the orc, but Sauron standing there on the threshold. The Maia was still clad from head to foot in his armour. Lindir straightened slightly. Across from him, Sauron looked at him for a few long moments, his face - his expression - still hidden beneath his helmet. Then, slowly, he turned his head to face the guards and raised his hand to gesture to them: a dismissive gesture.

Without question and silently, the orcs bowed and departed. As the door shut behind them, Sauron reached down and turned the key in the door. There was a resounding metallic click. Glorfindel shivered and shifted uneasily in his seat.

Sauron looked then at Lindir.

"I have some questions for you," he said. His voice was soft and even; muffled beneath the helmet. Low... flat and emotionless. "I would appreciate swift, honest responses." He took a step forward. Lindir leaned back slightly. Sauron paused a moment and then proceeded closer until he was standing right over Lindir and Lindir was sitting shrunken back on the seat and his breathing was harsh and fast and loud in the hall. Glorfindel too found that he was shrunken back on his own chair, his hands latched fast on the arms of his seat in the gallery. Lindir's fright physically hurt him; his spouse's terror underneath the menace of Sauron's shadow seared him to his very core.

Sauron raised his gloved left hand. It was a cruel metal glove with sharp bladed edges across the knuckles. Glorfindel had seen it before. He had seen it in use before and knew all too well the injuries that it could inflict upon bare skin in battle. He leaned back further in his chair, wincing already...

...and then he frowned and relaxed slightly when all of sudden, Sauron, instead of moving to strike or wound Lindir in some slower and more painful fashion, moved the hand towards the glove of his other hand - his right - and the metal fingers began to undo the ties holding the right glove fast. As Sauron pulled the glove off the limb there was the clink of metal, the slide of leather upon skin, and then the glove was tossed to the seat beside Lindir where it landed with a heavy thud, causing Lindir to flinch. When Lindir looked back at Sauron, he observed the now naked hand reach forward to touch Lindir's face. To stroke it.

Lindir inhaled sharply and closed his eyes so that the picture became black. In the darkness his breathing loudened and quickened. Glorfindel imagined it was with repulsion. With fearful, terrified submission.

But then, abruptly, Lindir opened his eyes again. Sauron had withdrawn his hand and was now undoing his other glove. He threw that aside to join the first. Then he reached up to remove his tall gleaming helmet to reveal the sharp-eyed pale face of its owner surrounded by long black braids. The grey eyes gazed intently down at Lindir for a few moments, their expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, the Maia stirred and reached down to take a long knife from his belt and, much to Glorfindel's confusion, bent slightly to undo Lindir's wrist bonds. As the last knot in the leather thongs fell away, Glorfindel's puzzlement at the strangeness of Sauron's actions was engulfed by a new, greater bafflement when a still heavily breathing Lindir suddenly pushed himself up and latched his arms around Sauron's neck to kiss him deeply.

Chapter 23

"You _are_ Annatar, are you not?" Lindir's voice shook when Sauron took him by his upper arms and pushed him back down onto the seat. "Your voice is the same. You feel the same." As Sauron released him and stepped away, he exclaimed tearfully, "Valar, I cannot believe it!" He pressed his hands to his mouth before suddenly thrusting them away and scrunching up his face. "So what did you want with me? What do you want with me now?"

"Where are the Rings of Power, Lindir?" Sauron's voice was low and flat, as distant as ever. As colourless and authoritative as ever. Soft, yet it seemed loud in the quiet of the confined red room.

When Lindir did not respond after a time, tears sliding slowly down the creases in the elf's cheeks, Sauron added, "If you refuse to answer directly to me, then I will have you answer indirectly through the violence that myself or my servants will inflict on you."

"And if I do not answer to that violence?"

"You wish to find out?"

Lindir fell silent again. His tears had dried. He stared down at his hands, curled together in his lap. "Do you intend to slay me?"

"That depends on you, Lindir, and whether you intend on remaining obediently and loyally in my service."

"I am not in your service."

"You have been in my service ever since I met you. That you did not know my true identity is irrelevant. It was your decision to trust my guise and supply me with information."

"You manipulated me! You manipulated all of us! That is not willingness on my part or anyone else's part!"

"You still made that choice." Sauron's eyes held no light of mockery or glee. Only the cold light of damning truth shone forth. And who was he, Lindir, to protest against such an accusation, especially to one such as Sauron? For in his own heart he knew it to be true. He _had_ made the decision to trust Annatar in spite of knowing almost nothing about the man. He _had_ informed him of secrets of the realm. He _had_ let himself become distracted by him, to the point of not wishing to please anyone else. Indeed, he gone so far as to have fallen in love with him, though where, in love, lay choice? What choice did one have over one's heart?

"I did not choose to love you."

"And I did not choose to make you love me."

Lindir did not believe him. Lindir did not disbelieve him. He glared at him; his forehead creased so hard that it pained him. Sauron gazed expressionlessly back at him, his head a dark silhouette against the lamps behind him. After a long pause, Lindir flinched and looked away; back to the bloody footprints on the carpet. "What if I know nothing of the whereabouts of the Rings?"

"Then you will die as one who is lying."

"Like the other elves who were sitting in this room with me not long ago? I assume none of them spoke on the Rings if you are now asking me for help."

Sauron did not even so much as blink. When he next spoke, his voice was a little harder. "Answer my questions, Lindir. Where are the Rings?"

When Lindir, once again, did not respond, he strode forward and swept down his arm to seize him by his right hand.

At the very first of the contact between them, his hand, and then his arm, cramped up and hurt as it had never hurt in his life. He recoiled and shrieked when the other dragged him up to stand. As Sauron released him, he collapsed to his knees, still shrieking, to stare, through watering eyes, at his arm. It looked strange and twisted. Under his very eyes, the trembling tendons drew shorter, so tight that they felt about to snap. The muscles and veins in it stretched and twisted tauter beneath the mottling skin. It burned him. Every pain nerve felt as if had been staved open with a fiery brand. Valar, it was agony! It was beyond agony!

"What - what have you done to it?" he shrieked, twisting his head to stare up at the expressionless face.

"Would you like the other arm the same?"

"NO!"

"Then where are the Rings?"

Lindir, his head cradled to his shivering fingers, sensed in the corner of his eyes, Sauron reaching to take him by his other arm. In agony as he was, he still had energy enough to flinch back. "No, no, please, no." He looked around wildly. Valar, why did everything suddenly seem so far away? And for that matter, why for the cursed sake had Celebrimbor no windows to this room? He struggled back when Sauron took hold of his left arm, his voice screaming once again...

But it did not come. Instead Sauron pulled him up by this arm and with his other hand touched his right shoulder. The pain abruptly subsided and the limb unfurled. Lindir, crying, buried his face against the other's breastplate, his left fist curled between them, and his throbbing, unfeeling right arm hanging between them. When he felt the hand that had pulled him up move to take his fist, his body started violently even though no pain came from the touch. He choked.

"Please," he wept. "There has to be some other way. Please."

"Certainly. Tell me the location of the Rings." The hand on his fist squeezed it gently, prompting a shuddering sob from Lindir.

"A deal?" he ventured unthinkingly.

"You are hardly in a position to make a deal with me, Lindir. But tell me. What is it?"

Lindir, flustered by the unexpected invitation, the sudden gift of relief, however fleeting, searched his mind for anything and everything. Was there anything that he could say, anything that he could suggest, that would spare him? Was there anything that he truly valued more than his self-respect as an elf of Eregion and Lindon? Was there any hope in trusting Sauron, against everything written in lore, against the unanimous evidence that any deals would be betrayed?

But there was always hope. How many times had he heard that whispered on the walls before the onslaught of the forces of darkness?

And there was indeed something that he valued more than his dignity as an elf. Something for which he would sacrifice everything that was elven about him.

Against all faith, he made his answer. He demanded that which he had demanded already from Annatar.

"Sleep with me."

In the ensuing silence after those hushed words, he waited for rejection. He waited for the harsh ridicule and scorn, even if Sauron had never even spoken to him thus. As for himself, he knew that there was no other answer that he could have given that would have spared him from torment. He could have exchanged himself for another elf, true, but what faith could he have in such a deal? From all he had heard from Celebrimbor and the captains and from all he had seen from the walls, Sauron's forces were more than capable of conquering Eriador. There was no chance that anyone could escape from this place. They all were already enslaved. And truly, there was nothing else that he wanted. He cared not if it sounded audacious. He had already sworn himself to Sauron. There was now nobody in his life, in his dreams, of which he thought more. That he trusted more. That he loved more. There was now nothing more that he desired than that bond, whatever the cost. And if it did not work out; if he finally woke up from this merciless nightmare and discovered that it was rape indeed and that he had been made to think this and do this against his will, he would fade happily to his death. For Sauron had, verily, already destroyed everything that was precious to him. Sauron _was_ everything to him.

There was a long silence. Then Sauron said, and that odd tone had returned to his voice, that tone that Lindir had last heard in the Maia's voice when he had first confessed to him. "And then you will tell me?"

Surprised... fearing that he had misheard, suspecting that Sauron was mocking him, Lindir did not dare look up. He just nodded and shivered when he felt Sauron's right hand shift from his shoulder to stroke the back of his head. The other's long fingers combed slowly through his hair, drawing down the back of his scalp to stroke down his nape. Lindir exhaled shakily and pressed closer to him.

"Very well." The words sounded like the closure of a long era and the dawning of a new one. "Come." Then Sauron released him and went to retrieve his helmet and gloves. After donning them, he bade Lindir follow him out of the room.

As they left the room, Lindir turned his head to look fleetingly at the red footprints that led away to the room next door. He swallowed and, feeling his shoulders tense a little, rubbed his right arm in his left and, gingerly flexing the recovering fingers, turned away to follow Sauron down the corridor that led back to the hallway through which he had come to the room. Some of the orcs who had been waiting outside followed them at another of Sauron's gloved gestures.

Sauron led him up the hallway and down another one, which still looked relatively unplundered. _Perhaps,_ Lindir wondered as he followed Sauron up a flight of stairs, _the hoarding orcs were working through the building in a certain order. Perhaps the smitheries and showrooms first._ Whatever the meaning, he soon found himself on the second story and trailing Sauron into one of Celebrimbor's vast guest rooms. The orcs, Sauron bade remain at the door, which he locked after them.

The bedroom was still intact. Indeed, they were so high up and the view was so angled over another of the still standing buildings that save for the absent trees, Lindir could almost fancy that Eregion was still whole. He looked about: from the expansive bed to the wash basin, still set ready with clean water from the now defiled springs, and wondered vaguely why Sauron had bothered to bring him to a bedroom. Surely, if Sauron were as cruel as his name told, then even if the Maia _had_ taken him, he would have done so in that bloodstained sitting room. He turned to observe the Maia, who was undoing his armour and sitting it carefully on an armchair near the door and suddenly wondered how Sauron could so swiftly and easily abandon his forces to take care of the kingdom. Eregion and their allies must be in a pitiful state indeed.

"Why did you trouble yourself to put your helmet and gloves back on before your own servants?" he suddenly found himself venturing.

Sauron did not look at him. He also ignored the question. "There is water in the basin. Go and drink."

Lindir blinked. He looked back at the basin. Sauron was right. Although he had not noticed it until now, he _was_ dehydrated. He had not drunk anything since his capture the previous night. He went over and poured himself a cup. Then, as he was about to drink it, his eyes slid to Sauron and he lowered the cup and ventured, hesitantly. "Do you thirst? Would you like a cup?" He supposed not. Sauron _was_ a Maia, after all. But it was still polite...

"Nay."

Lindir nodded and turned his eyes back to the cup in his hand. He drank and rejoiced in the cool sweet taste on his tongue. As he felt it trickle down his throat and into his belly, he looked in the reflection of the mirror to observe Sauron undoing his padded shirt. He felt his face heat up and he hurriedly looked back at the trembling surface of the water in his cup. Valar, they _were_ going to do it. He gulped down the remainder of the water and poured himself another cup. Then another. And then, finally, his thirst waning, but another need waxing, he looked about for the chamber pot.

He was washing his hands and attending to some stains and grazes on his body when he sensed Sauron come up behind him. The Maia was just as naked as he was and as the other's body heat neared his back, he shivered as he felt the warm air slow to nestle between the narrowing gap between their skins.

He watched the Maia dip his hand into the wash bowl. The hand retreated and he suddenly felt his hair pushed aside and cool fingers brush over his upper back. The wet fingertips daubed at a hurt that made him flinch slightly, then smile. When a tongue replaced the fingers to lick and suckle gently at the hurt, a giggle escaped his lips. He would have turned around, but Sauron's left hand had threaded over his own left, resting upon the edge of the sink, the fingers intertwined. He gazed at the knitted digits for a few moments, then up at the mirror, and then, smiling, reached up with his still slightly sore right hand to pull his hair further forward over his shoulder.

Sauron moved his head to attend to the nape of his neck and stepped closer to him, so close now that Lindir could feel the other's chest and stomach against his back. So warm. So firm. So close. His erection rose slightly, brushing the edge of the sink with its head. He exhaled heavily. Under Sauron's lips, his skin shuddered, at first wet and hot under his lips, then cool and dry and shivering slightly where the contact disappeared.

Suddenly Sauron's left hand slid away. Lindir turned around and slid his arms back around Sauron's neck, his breath quickening as he felt Sauron's bare chest and stomach flush against his skin... his erection. Valar, how could they call him cold? He had never felt such searing warmth.

His hardness trembled between them, pressed between the Maia's thigh and his own stomach. His breath against Sauron's lips felt shaky. His lips felt bruised and raw where they shivered over his skin and neck. His cheeks hurt where he rubbed them against the meeting jut of his collarbones. His hands were trembling, his feet stumbling where they shifted as he sought to gain closer purchase to his heat. His head felt dizzy. His thoughts confused. He was delerious. Sauron's kisses burned his skin; every release of pressure of his lips seemed to tear at the fragile layers. He dared not look into the Maia's darkening eyes, shadowy grey like the stirring plunging depths of Belegaer. So dark that the waves were no longer grey beneath the twin gazes of Arien or Ithil. Darker than the starless nights and storm clouds that had raped the laughter in Eregion weeks ago.

~*~

_"So you slept with each other?"_ Silmo's voice interceded the memory as Lindir was beginning to recall Sauron and him making their way to the bed, Sauron's fingers already inside his entrance; wetting him, Lindir mewling his approvement. A little surprised, both by the memory and the sudden interruption into it, a little aroused as well, Lindir blinked.

_Aye, we slept together. But why have you interrupted...?_

_"Stay with me for now. He did not hurt you during the act?"_

_Not at all. I enjoyed it._

_"What happened afterwards?"_

_He asked me for the location of the Rings of Power._

_"Did you tell him?"_

_Aye, I did. I told him all I knew about them._

_"Did you tell him the location of the nine and the seven in the city?"_

_Aye, I did._

_"Did you also tell him about the Three?"_

_As I said, I told him all I knew about the Rings. I did not know the location of the Elven Rings for certain, but I knew that Celebrimbor had ventured to Loriland and left one there. It followed, to me, that he must have decided to pass the Rings onto elven guardians, probably Noldorin like himself, and thus have sent them to Lindon._

_"So you betrayed Eregion as you promised him?"_

_Aye, I did._ Lindir felt little remorse as he uttered the ruinous words. Now, in hindsight, even though he had forgotten the memory and his betrayal of Eregion until now, he still felt no remorse over his traitorous behaviour. The sacrifice of the Rings and his betrayal of his own people had bought him the only thing that he had ever desired with all his heart. The thing that he had desired most in his life until that moment that he had foreseen the future of his children in Dol Guldur. Indeed, were he given another chance to make his choice again, he knew that he would choose the same path.

The court seemed to sense his sentiments. _"So you felt no guilt at your betrayal of Eregion and the secrets of your own people? You accepted thraldom willingly?"_

_My future lay with Sauron, or Annatar, or whatever you wish to call him. I made that decision long before I knew Sauron's true identity and that he was a traitor and that he was a murderer and that he was to crush my home in Eregion to fire and ash. As for your second question, in the eyes of my own people I was already in disgrace. My rejection by my escape party only confirmed my fears that my professional career was forever compromised, regardless of my training and my skills. Understand also that I was not the only one who betrayed Eregion. As I found out after I told Sauron the location of the Rings, he had already learned of the location of the seven and the nine from Celebrimbor and some of the other elves that were questioned before me._

_"So he questioned you under duress in spite of the fact that he already had the information he desired?"_

_Aye._

_"Does that not seem strange to you?"_

_There are other reasons that one may question a captive than for information._

_"How did the other prisoners react to your unscathed appearance when you were returned to them, this is assuming you were returned to them?"_

_I was indeed returned to them. But I was not the only prisoner who returned to them without hurts. As for how we were treated by them, they did not speak to us and we did not speak to them. They treated us as they treated everyone else, scathed or no, for we were rarely permitted to talk with each other, whether in the stables or after we left Eregion._

_"Back to my earlier question. Did you see Celebrimbor?"_

_Aye, I did. We all did._

_"Describe when you saw him."_

_It was when we were leaving Eregion and heading north. I sometimes caught sight of him walking with another, smaller group of captives that always stayed closer to Sauron than us._

_"He was not dead, then? Not as written in lore?"_

_Not then._ Lindir shook his head. _He was killed almost two weeks later, after the forces had dealt with – or attempted to deal with – the armies of Amroth and Durin who came up on our rear to relieve the pressure on Elrond and the escape parties ahead. The night that he was killed, we were resting in the shelter of the mountains. We had learned that the following morning those of us prisoners who could still walk would be taken to one of Sauron's domains deep in the mountains. We had also been told that those of us who were unable to walk properly or were slow or were in some other way seriously disabled would be killed so we slept fitfully, if at all. That night we heard screams from the main party, which was further down the slope. Those of us who could see - and here we were assisted by our guards who could move to see and saw fit to mock us with what they saw - told us that Celebrimbor was being..._ He trailed off, swallowing, and gestured awkwardly with his hands.

 _"What do you mean?"_ Evidently Eönwë had not understood.

A little surprised that they had not understood considering that they had apparently already questioned Celebrimbor, Lindir lowered his hand and clasped it tightly together with its fellow. _I mean that they were putting the... pole through him... a bit like a skewer through a fish - through the rear and body and then finally out of his mouth - and... he..._ Lindir swallowed, _...he was still alive afterwards._

There was a short silence. Then Silmo ventured to him, _"He was still alive?"_

_Aye. At least, according to what I was told by the elves who could see... and our guards. Did Celebrimbor tell you something different?_

_"Nay, Lindir, Celebrimbor does not recall anything after Eregion except pain,"_ Silmo told him. _"Eönwë wonders if you saw when Celebrimbor died."_

_I did not, but I saw his body threaded upon the pole and shot through with orc arrows the following morning when we were allowed to rise to begin the journey away from the greater force and towards the mountain passes. There were other matters that were occupying my mind._

_"Such as?"_

_Such as our inspection by Sauron early that morning and the slaughter of some of us who were deemed too risky or too useless to be allowed to live._

_"How were they killed?"_

_Quickly. They were beheaded._ Lindir swallowed.

_"You were deemed more valuable alive than dead, obviously, but judging from what you have told us, you were worth more than the other prisoners. Indeed I would go so far as to call you a favourite captive of Sauron."_

_I do not deny it._

_"Indeed. So did anything significant pass between him and you when he inspected you?"_

_Nay. He took me aside to a rocky grove a little above and away from the companies and asked me to strip, which I did..._

_"To have sex?"_

Lindir pulled a face. _Nay,_ he muttered, a little coldly, not at all liking the insinuation in the suggestion. _I do not know why he wished to see my back. But he did and he took his time with it and dressed my sores, especially the ones around my spine. I thought it a little odd as he did not bother so much with the sores on the rest of my body, but he seemed pressed for time. When he finished he sent me to stand back with the rest of the captives._

Silmo stirred and interrupted him again. _"Lindir, Sauron has just informed the court, through his own recollections on the lower half of the screen, that in that short time he was actually placing six of the Rings - three dwarven and three for the Secondborn - in your back. He attached them to your spine what do you say to that revelation?"_

_That I am extremely surprised, but I do not think it impossible. I have seen his hands at work on others' bodies and am acquainted with how quickly and painlessly he can work when he puts his mind to it. But it certainly explains why he requested for me to be looked after in the caverns in the Misty Mountains and not to be set to work or harmed in any way. But why did he not keep those six Rings in his possession?  
"He claims that although he had seen possible uses for some of them in Eriador, he wished to use those that he had inserted in you elsewhere and saw your body as a discreet hiding spot."_

Lindir nodded. It made sense to him.

"Was that the last you saw of Sauron in Eriador before you were taken to the mountains?"

Aye.

"When did you next see him?"

In the mountains. When he had been defeated in Eriador and was passing through on his way back to Mordor. He took me back to Mordor with him.

"Thank you, Lindir. We will discuss more of what you have told us the day after tomorrow. The court will be taking a day's break tomorrow."

Lindir inclined his head, exhaled heavily, and winced as he felt Silmo leave his body to stride away from him a few paces before spinning around to face him. He looked up and, on finding Silmo staring intently at him, frowned. "What is it?"

"About that interruption into your memory earlier," Silmo replied. "We did it because Ingwë wished we do so."

Lindir's frown deepened. "Ingwë? He was in the audience? What about him?"

Silmo swallowed. His child-like trachea slid up and down in his throat. "Glorfindel was in the audience."

Lindir stared at him. Slowly, silently, the moments slid by.

And then finally he shook his head slightly and said, softly, accusingly, his voice almost a whisper, "And so why did you not tell me?"

Chapter 24

The idea that Lindir might have had a lover before he had entered thraldom... or indeed had a lover whilst _in_ thraldom was not a new idea to Glorfindel. After all, he himself was guilty of that crime, which only became virtue when one did not read the customs set by members of his own house quite so plainly. He was far from a virgin when he had invited Lindir to his bed and Lindir had been too skilled at the act to make fooling himself that their time together might have been Lindir's first time even remotely plausible.

But their relationship was not based on sex. It was based on love, a far deeper, lingering connection than temporary warmth between two bodies. Not every individual had the fortune of discovering such a feeling. Glorfindel had felt it for the first time with Lindir. He had hoped - had told himself - that Lindir had felt the same way about him.

He had believed that when the customs spoke of one love, one bond, that that was the irrefutable truth.

Lust was an easy basis for a relationship. It was short, affectionate, and simple. There were none of those connections that came with love. There was no depth, nothing beyond the surface attachment. There was nothing that could hurt either of them. There was none of that sensitivity to the suggestion of infidelity and to the heartbreak that could follow such revelations.

He knew - he was almost certain - that Lindir had not engaged in liaisons with others during their relationship, but Glorfindel knew that love was not so simple as determining who was sleeping with who. With love, even... or perhaps especially when two lovers are apart, existed a thread that bound two hearts. It lingered on regardless of new partners. It could be severed, but that decision, as with the decision to fall in love, was not something so easily achieved.

Now, Glorfindel wondered if indeed a rational Lindir loved Sauron as deeply as he had claimed before the court and if so, how many nights had Lindir spent beside him thinking not of him, or of his children, or of the realm, but of Sauron?

Was that infidelity?

~*~

"Do you need a handkerchief?"

Crouched on the side of the steps outside the court, one hand pulling back his own hair as he finished retching onto the snowy lawns, Glorfindel shot an askance look at the bottom of Ingwë's cloak on the step above him and shook his head. "Nay." He withdrew his own handkerchief and rising, unfolded the cloth and daubed it at the remains of his lunch and spittle that covered his chin and lips. He looked back at Ingwë and blinked hard when his vision wavered slightly. Ingwë's brow creased.

"Come, child, I will have someone escort you back to your room here. Or my halls, if you would prefer to leave the summit altogether," he ventured, stretching out an arm to touch Glorfindel's elbow with the fingers.

Glorfindel shook his head and sniffed, wincing and hissing when he felt some of the contents of his lunch clotting the back of his nose. He sniffed again and swallowed it down. "Nay, I wish to see the rest of it." He turned and made his way back up the steps, blinking again.

"Glorfindel, have you not seen enough to be satisfied?" Ingwë's voice followed him, the King's footsteps soundless on the floor of the deserted entrance hall behind him. "Of his infidelity? Do not hurt yourself needlessly..."

"Is this why you brought me here, then? Out of hope that one day spent here viewing Lindir's past, without an opportunity to even confront him on this matter, will destroy my relationship with him?" Glorfindel paused on the steps that led back up to the gallery to look back and shoot Ingwë a scathing look. "He was a..."

"You were the one who wished to come here, Glorfindel. Do not blame..."

"He was a thrall," Glorfindel interrupted, "and from all appearances, deluded. However confused I am now, how much more confused was he then than I am now? And considering my own promiscuous life, who am I to chastise him for sexual relations with anyone else in his past?"

"But with Sauron?"

"Indeed! It was with Sauron!" Glorfindel turned around to continue to make his way back to the gallery. "Who knows what spells Sauron wrought around him to coerce him to feel that way towards him?"

"Glorfindel, 'tis you who is deluded if you are twisting Lindir's sober words that he loved Sauron and his relationship with him into a cruder translation of that word. He is working through a medium and mediums do not allow for such vague interpretations to enter the court."

"And you believe what the court tells you?"

"Glorfindel..."

"Hush, Glorfindel, Ingwë."

They had approached the top of the stairs and a warden of the courtroom was standing there, indicating for them to lower their voices. The warden did not attempt to block their path, but Glorfindel, on hearing faintly from the courtroom Eonwe's voice informing the court that Lindir's part in the questioning for today had finished and rustling as the audience rose and began to come down the stairs, halted.

So he had missed the rest of Lindir's appearance for that day. Thanks to his stomach... nay, thanks to such a heavy lunch. As he watched the elvish members of the audience start to descend the stairs from the gallery to pass him, he leaned against the wall to give them room. Beside him, two steps below him, Ingwë stood, his shoulder almost brushing Glorfindel's elbow.

When Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden filed out, they glanced at him. Laiglas and Lindo did not stop to speak. Laiglas' lips twitched into what Glorfindel read as a smirking expression when the elf passed him and met his gaze. Lindo looked pale. Linden, who came down last however, slowed and drew away from her brothers to come over to him, inclining her head slightly as she did so. Glorfindel nodded back.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then she swallowed and raised her hand to pull her cloak closer about her. "Laiglas, Lindo, and I are housed at Eonwe's house."

"I know. Glingal showed me the letter you wrote to him."

She nodded. There was another pause.

He looked at her pale skin. Her black hair. Her gaunt, long limbs beneath her thick cloak. The question teetered on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to ask her about it.

"Are you able to contact Lindir?" he asked then.

She nodded. "I have seen him."

"How is he?" Glorfindel nodded pointedly up the stairs; back towards the gallery of the courtroom. "He looked unwell."

She pursed her lips. "Not well. He misses you."

"Mm."

"I am speaking the truth."

He shook his head, smiled slightly, tightly. "I do not doubt your word."

There was another pause. The stairwell now lay deserted save for the watching wardens at the top and bottom of the steps, and Glingal and Gloredhel, who stood slightly above Linden on the steps and nearer the opposite wall.

"Well..." Glorfindel said then. He stepped away from the wall. "We should..."

"There were complications with the creature inside of him," she said then.

"What?" What was this about creatures?

"It had to be mated with another creature. He has not been eating properly since then, or so said Silmo to us when he visited us earlier today."

"Silmo? His medium? What is this about creatures?"

"Aye, Silmo is his medium."

"He visits you?"

"Sometimes. I never know when to expect him. He mostly comes to speak with Laiglas, not with me." She pursed his lips and turned towards the base of the stairs as if she was about to leave. Before she stepped away, however, she looked sidelong at him and said, "How are you?"

"Lighter." When Linden's brow creased, he smiled and clarified, "my lunch now decorates the front garden of this place."

"Ah." She snorted. But her amusement quickly faded. "Do you intend to visit Lindir?"

"I do, provided the authorities will allow me access to him. Eonwe seemed reluctant at dawn today when I asked him if I could see him."

She glanced at Ingwë, then looked back at him. "Well," she said, "I do not know how much my opinion counts to you, but I think Lindir needs someone with him - someone whom he can trust. At the moment, all he has is Silmo, whose chief interaction with him is to besiege him with questions, and my brothers and I, who remind him of what he endured. I am afraid that Lindir, if he becomes too distressed, he will not wish to..."

"You think he can trust me, considering what I heard today in court?"

She fell silent and for a few long moments they stood there unspeaking. Then, she swallowed, inclined her head at him and Ingwë once more, before turning and hastening down the white steps and out of sight. Glorfindel followed her passage with his gaze, and after she had disappeared, stared long and hard at the cold stone steps. When Ingwë touched his arm, he almost started.

"Lindir will be venturing to the summit tomorrow. Do you wish to meet him then or would you rather meet him now? I am happy to go to Eonwe to request a meeting between you and him if you wish."

"Now." He was tired of being toyed with by the authorities of Elvenhome and Valinor. It seemed that opportunities to resolve everything were slipping through his fingers faster than he could move to catch them.

"Would you like us to come with you?" Gloredhel said then. Glorfindel looked back at where he and Glingal stood higher on the steps. "We are happy to see him tomorrow and not now."

"Or simply later," Glingal said. "We think you need to talk."

Talk. Glorfindel chuckled sourly. "Indeed."

But as he turned to follow his children and Ingwë down the steps, alone behind them, his smile quickly faded. The taste of acid burned his mouth and throat. The cold in the air chilled his head. His hands, curled within the pockets of his cloak, felt icy. There was a misery in his bones, a lingering melancholy, a fearfulness, a bitter sickness that was no ordinary reaction to the weather and the disgorgement of his lunch.

~*~

Lindir found himself in the bathroom again. It seemed to be the only place where he could sit without fear of being disturbed by Silmo and for that he was grateful. He sat with his arms around his knees on the bench beside the window, his nose pressed to his kneecaps. However hard he pressed the tip of his nose against his warm limbs, it remained cold. He exhaled and watched his breath mist away to join the steam of the bath.

Now, more than ever, he wished that he had given some prior thought to what story, what excuse, what falsehood, what truth he should tell Glorfindel. For, in spite of all his fears, now and in the past that Glorfindel would hear a whisper of some secret, uncover some thrall who knew all, befriend Laiglas who remembered more than Lindir cared to remember of his last few years in Dol Guldur, he had never given his confession to Glorfindel any serious thought at all.

 _But of course, I spent all that time trying so hard to forget everything,_ he reminded himself. _And besides, why would I wish to remember anything for the purpose of recalling it all to him? Since when do I answer to Glorfindel? He had lovers before us too. Why should I have - why should I do so now?_

But he knew that it was different. Glorfindel had never bonded to his past lovers whereas he, Lindir, _had_ done so and had done so more than willingly. This was already taboo in the Customs of the Eldar. It had been blamed for the flight of the Noldor from Valinor.

And of course, added to this fact was the fact that the identity of his lover had been none other than Sauron.

And not only that, but that he had kept this fact hidden from Glorfindel.

In the other - main - room, he heard Silmo suddenly open a cupboard door, then close it again. His face suddenly twisted and he pressed it tightly against his kneecaps, so much so that it hurt him.

 _Valar, what choice did I have?_ he asked himself fiercely. _I love Glorfindel, but how could I tell him? How could I tell anyone? I have not even spoken of it with Lindo and Linden!_

But now Glorfindel had seen what he had told the court today. The rest of his family too. What was he to do? What could he do? Should he do anything at all?

"Lindir."

Silmo's voice shattered the delusion of privacy. He was in a cell indeed. A cell even smaller than Sauron's.

Lindir closed his eyes tightly for a few moments, then opened them and lifted his face to look at Silmo. The Maia's lips twitched in what could have been an apologetic expression. "What is it?" Lindir asked. His voice sounded almost inaudible to his own ears, but Silmo seemed to hear him well.

"Glorfindel is here to see you."

Lindir stared at him for a few moments, numb. "Here?"

"Here, beyond the veil. I am happy to let him in if you are willing to see him."

Lindir stared at him for a little longer, and then turned his head slowly to look back at his knees. All those years of time - lost! All those chances. All those opportunities to explain himself or think up a confession had truly slipped away from him. Gone.

He nodded and slid slowly from the bench to stand and make his way to the door of the bathroom. "Is he angry?" he asked Silmo as he neared the Maia. He paused beside him and turned to look at him.

"Nay. He looks pale and worried."

"Then may I see him alone?" Even if Glorfindel wished to hit him, Lindir did not think he would mind very much. Indeed, on hearing the words that Glorfindel was not angry, he had even felt a trace of disappointment. It was almost as if he was hoping to be struck down. For his betrayal of Glorfindel's... everyone's trust.

Valar, at the moment he felt as if he deserved every ounce of Glorfindel's rage. Sauron's as well, if only Sauron could feel rage or enough of it to express it.

Silmo looked at him intently for a few moments. Then he shook his head. "I will observe your meeting, though I will remain unseen by both of you if that is what you wish. But I will not leave you alone with him at the moment."

"You are the one that deceived me into thinking that Glorfindel was not present at court today," Lindir pointed out.

"True, and you know I did that in the best interests of the court."

Lindir stared at him for a few more moments. Suddenly he was half of a mind to abandon the trials and Sauron's deal and endure his body's affliction until he could persuade Elrond to remove the creature. Whatever Sauron wished to tell the court on his own, he was welcome to do so. How much more lurid could the details of the telling be than what he had already told them? He could sink little lower than how low he had already sunk. There was already no honourable life left for him in Elvenhome if details of what he had told the court became public. Perhaps he could seek entrance to Mandos from the lands of Este or even from the doors of Mandos itself. Tears burned his eyes and he blinked and looked away quickly from Silmo and back to the bath. "Let him in, then," he said then. As he heard Silmo walk away, he pressed his lips tightly together as he felt his face crumple. He would not cry. He _would_ not cry. He was so tired of crying. He was so tired of being weak. He was so tired of being tricked. And Valar, he was so tired of tricking others.

"Lindir?"

There it was. That voice. It relieved and horrified him to hear it.

"Lindir." The voice was closer now. At the door. Lindir turned his head to look at him and the very sight of Glorfindel standing there and gazing at him seemed to shatter him inside. His chin trembled and then all of a sudden he was choking and gasping and crying. He covered his mouth with a hand and looked away. How could he look Glorfindel in the eyes? What right did he have to cry? Why was he crying?

"Darling." Glorfindel's voice held a note of anxiousness. Then the elf was stepping towards him. "Darling..." His voice came softer now, gentler. A hand touched his arm briefly, and then two arms slid around him and he was pressed against Glorfindel's chest and the older elf was whispering words of comfort in his ears. Lindir shook in the embrace. Glorfindel stroked his hair and back, his lips pressed against the top of his trembling head. Glorfindel was taller and stronger and warmer than Lindir remembered. He inhaled deeply of the other's warmth; relished the feel of such heat through their clothes. It had only been a few days. For some reason, perhaps his own confusion, he had anticipated someone angrier, someone colder... but Glorfindel was none of those things.

As he calmed, Glorfindel ceased talking, then began to talk again. "Let us sit down somewhere comfortable," he said. "I think we need to talk. What do you think?"

Lindir sniffed and nodded against his chest. There was a pause, and then Glorfindel kissed the top of his head again and reached down and took his hand in his own. Then he turned away and led him out of the bathroom and, after pausing briefly to look about the room and between the two seating areas: the bed and the dining area, settled for the softer and more comfortable bed. He sat down on the side and Lindir sat down beside him. Glorfindel squeezed his hand - the hand lying between them - gently.

In the ensuing silence, Lindir wondered what Glorfindel would say to break the silence. What would be his first question? Would it be a question? Would it be a statement? Would he sound angry? Hurt? Confused? After a moment he decided that from Glorfindel's current behaviour, it would probably be confused.

And then Glorfindel spoke and he, Lindir, was the one confused.

"Valar, it was cold on the summit," the elf-lord said. "It is so good to be down here now. They greeted us with a blizzard at dawn and almost froze us to death. By us, I mean Glingal, Gloredhel, and Lindo, and I, of course." He squeezed Lindir's hand again. Lindir swallowed. "Gloredhel and Lindo arrived only yesterday evening at Ingwë's halls. They met each other on the road and travelled the remainder of the journey together." He chuckled. "Gloredhel has not changed. He is as assertive and stubborn as always, but it is good to have him here."

Lindir smiled and said nothing. He had not known of Gloredhel and Lindo's arrival, but compared to his and Glorfindel's relationship issues, their arrival was trivial. Why was Glorfindel speaking of these matters? To warm him up? Surely there was no need. He was not that fragile. He opened his mouth to breach the issue, then closed it again as his courage again failed him.

"It is still Spring down there in the valley. I think the linden trees must be past exhausted. The grass, too, considering how thickly shrouded it is in yellow petals. The poor blades must be suffocating."

Lindir snorted. Glorfindel leaned over and kissed the side of his head. Lindir leaned against him.

"This is a pretty room," Glorfindel continued. "Do you live here alone with Silmo, then?"

Lindir nodded, smiling. His cheek rubbed the thick fur of the elf-lord's cloak as he moved his head. "Aye. This is his room."

"Where do you eat?"

"The cupboard beside the table. Do you hunger?"

"Not at the moment. I prefer to hold you for now." There came another kiss to his head. "I have missed you."

"I have missed you as well."

Glorfindel chuckled softly. "Well, that makes two of us."

"Indeed."

They talked a little while longer on frivolous matters. Lindir told him a little about the room and its features, and what little he did with his time between court appearances. Glorfindel told him about where he and Gloredhel and Glingal were housed on the summit and that Linden, Laiglas, and Lindo were housed with Eonwe. "I have yet to find out where Eonwe's house is located," he said then. "But our children aside, how do you find Silmo? Is he pleasant?"

Lindir considered informing Glorfindel that Silmo was present in the room, only unseen to their eyes. Then he decided against it and said only, "He is pleasant."

"Are you happy in his care?

"He is courteous towards me... when he is here."

"He leaves you here alone? Like now?"

"Sometimes."

Glorfindel released his hand and slid his arm around his shoulders to rest his hand on Lindir's far arm. "He has good reasons, though, does he not?" He ran his hand up and down Lindir's arm.

"Nay."

Glorfindel fell quiet for a time then. Then, suddenly, he said rather softly, "You look unwell. If the stress of the court is too much for you, then please consider abandoning it. I am sure that there is another way to heal you of your affliction and return you and our sons to male. I would rather you be happy in spirit than in body. There are healers for bodies. There are precious few healers for spirits."

Lindir did not say anything. But in his thoughts, he rejected Glorfindel's words. He knew that if Sauron was truly as great as Silmo and everyone who knew anything of him claimed, then there was no other way for him or his male children to become male without allowing themselves to be placed under Sauron's hands. Why, none of their sons even knew what it was to be male. Save for their years as children, since their puberty when the creatures within them had stirred from their dormancy, their sex had been truncated by long painful operations to rid them of everything that made them male or female or whatever they were save for their outwards male appearance.

And even if he decided that he wished to remain as he was, he knew that the implications of his refusal would affect not only him, but also his children. It would deny his male children their right to become full members of their sex. Could he make that decision? As far as he knew, there was no other way to cure them than through these court appearances. No other way except through Sauron, with whom he could now not even speak, let alone see.

"Lindir," Glorfindel said then, "would you like me to call someone to stay with you? I am happy to do so myself, but if you do not wish for me..." he trailed off. Lindir closed his eyes. Glorfindel felt so warm - oh so warm against his cheek. Even if the elf could not hold him so well as Sauron, even if he did not know the intricacies of the elven body even half as well as the Maia, Glorfindel felt so comfortable just so.

"Your cloak is wondrously soft," he ventured, ignoring the question.

"Eonwe gave one to each of us when we arrived at the summit this morning."

"In that blizzard."

"Aye." They chuckled softly in unison. Glorfindel ran his hand up and down Lindir's arm once more, then stilled it in the middle of his upper arm to squeeze it gently. "Would you like me to stay with you?"

"I would," Lindir said immediately, but then, as he thought longer on it, he added more hesitantly, "but as you said, I think we need to talk before we come to a decision."

"Aye." That was all Glorfindel said in response, his voice soft. Lindir hesitated, and then looked up at Glorfindel's slack face. When the elf-lord caught his gaze, though, his face melted into a smile. Lindir could not bring himself to smile, so he looked away again and turned his head to look at the window and the blue sky that met his gaze there.

"I thought you would be angry with me," he said finally.

"I am not so much angry as a little confused and concerned," Glorfindel replied. His hand resumed rubbing Lindir's arm. "I was physically ill when I saw you and him together, but how may I rebuke you for having a past relationship? I, also, have had liaisons in my past. That you have had a lover before is not news to me either. You were not exactly a virgin when we met." He chuckled and Lindir chuckled nervously. "I would, however, like clarification on your feelings towards him and also an explanation from your own lips as to why you did not tell me about this relationship before now, especially after you knew that you would have to tell the court about it." He waited for a time, then when Lindir gave no response, pressed him, "Lindir?"

Again, Lindir said nothing. Glorfindel bent his head slightly to peer at his expression. When Lindir did not turn his gaze to acknowledge him, he patted his arm. "Darling?"

Still nothing.

"Darling, please talk to me. He _did_ hurt you as a thrall, did he not? You do not truly love him even now, do you?"

He could lie. Lie and have Glorfindel come back to this cell - for a cell it was in truth - the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, with new questions and revelations... and then accusations. He could make that dreadful choice indeed and serve more lies and lies upon lies. That way, he could have time on his side. He could bask in Glorfindel's dwindling affections until he broke both their hearts at last and forever.

Or he could tell the truth. The truth that would surely have him seeing Glorfindel's back before sunset anyway. The truth that Glorfindel would learn anyway, through some means, through some connection. Indeed, at the moment, the truth seemed to be the only sane choice that he could make without risking shredding every single last thread of love and trust between them. But it was a truth that could well break Glorfindel's heart anyway.

But how could he tell it? How could he? How could he bring himself to speak the words that would have Glorfindel walking away from him?

It seemed that already he had dallied too long, for whilst he had been thinking, attempting to come to a decision in his mind, Glorfindel had been pulling away. And as he felt Glorfindel's hand slip away and the elf-lord rise to walk over to the window, he burst into fresh, silent tears behind Glorfindel's back.

Chapter 25

The chasm of silence between them was painful. There he lay on his side beneath the sheets of the bed, Lindir's back against his chest, their heads sharing the same pillow, his arm curled over him. How many thousands of nights and days had they spent in this sleeping position? Close. So close to each other's body warmth and skin that if one of them were sweating, the other would feel similarly. So why did it feel so cold between them? It was inexplicable. He flexed the fingers of the hand lying against the front of Lindir's robe idly, feeling them warm and sluggish under his instruction.

Lindir was not moving, but Glorfindel could tell that the elf was not asleep by his breathing. By the uneven rise and fall of the elf's rib cage beneath his arm. He wondered what the younger was thinking. He wondered if he should attempt to build a bridge over the sullen gulf. Or perhaps he should just throw something. He smiled at the thought, and then just as abruptly felt his smile disappear when Lindir's body suddenly shuddered at some quickly suppressed emotion. 

Was he crying then? Glorfindel observed Lindir's shoulders shake again, a little calmer - or perhaps a little more restrained - now, and pursed his lips briefly before exhaling quietly. What was he to do? Comfort him? Leave him be? What if he was the reason why Lindir was crying? What if he was not? If Lindir wished to be embraced, then surely the elf knew that all he needed to do was turn around in his arms. He was happy to cuddle him. He loved him, after all. He loved him, regardless of what Lindir thought of him.

After a few more moments, he moved the hand that lay against Lindir's chest to search for the elf's nearest hand. He found it nestled between the pillow edge and the mattress. He stroked it lightly with his fingers, and when he felt it respond, twined their fingers together and squeezed gently.

He had no sooner done so than he heard a trembling gasping inhalation and Lindir's shoulders renewed their violent jerking. He swallowed.

How much longer would this silence, this crying, this horrible _horrible_ tension remain between them? And Valar, what could he do to ease it or to speed its passing?

In front of him, Lindir's body calmed again. The uneasy peace returned and Glorfindel waited silently for the elf to either fall asleep or to shudder with tears once more.

~*~

It was dark and hot in the orc caves. Surprisingly so, but it was neither the darkness nor the temperature that made being there uncomfortable. Rather, it was the feel and smell of the thirty or so bodies lying pressed tightly on either side of him at one side of the low pit. The naked skin of his neighbours felt warm and dry. The one in front of him, who appeared to be an elf about his own age, was shivering slightly. Lindir wondered how long it had been since any of them had been given something to eat and drink. He felt parched and from what he had seen, he was one of the better cared for prisoners; the orcs had not touched him roughly or even let him catch the end of a whip since they had left the forces on the lower slopes of the Misty Mountains. Most of the others, as far as he had seen on the journey, had not been so lucky.

But regardless of the orcs' differing treatment of each of them, as soon as they had arrived at the orc hideout, they had been bound tightly by hand and foot once more and made to lie down in the pit. Lie down so that they were as they were now - packed at one side and lying either on their fronts or on their sides. Alone apart from their guards: two orcs who appeared to be paying them no attention and who were engaging in a foreign ugly banter at the top of the pit, their silhouettes visible against the burning stumps of wood set in iron holders in the craggy wall behind their heads. Lindir recognised their language as the Black Speech. He had read accounts of it in Eregion and had treated it as a little researched novelty that he would hopefully never be requested to study and by extension, never have to go out into the field to use it, or in a position to have to learn.

It seemed fortune had turned her back on him in both respects, however, and he smiled tightly at the irony.

He had listened to their speech for a while, gleaning little from it - Elbereth, it was an ugly mouthful of a language, but memorising what bits of it he thought might be important to remember, when he suddenly heard approaching footsteps. The golden-red light waxed as the flames of more torches - these ones carried now - were added to their numbers. There was a sudden rain of dust and small rocks over the edge of the pit above him and he shut his eyes tightly until it had ceased. Then, on reopening his eyes, he looked up again and saw that there were more silhouettes standing there now. All orcs. All chattering.

"They are wondering whether they should take us to their forges deeper in the mountain to be branded or if they should bring the necessary equipment here," a voice suddenly whispered from behind. After a moment Lindir realised that it was the elf directly behind him and that the elf was talking mainly to him. He would have turned around to face him, but at the moment, in such close proximity to their captors, he did not wish to attract any attention. There were too few of them for him for any movement to escape attention and any attention was more than likely to be bad. He wondered at the identity of the elf behind him. Another scholar, like him? Perhaps a librarian who knew him?

Nay, he decided then. It was more likely to be a messenger or warrior of some sort who had had dealings with orcs in the past. But he knew no warriors of Eregion save through hearsay or unless they were scholars as well.

There was a lull in the orc's conversation. Then it started anew and in a different, louder tone, as if the subject had changed to something closer to their hearts.

"What have they decided?" he whispered back to the elf behind him.

"They are complaining that their lord - an orc lord and not Sauron, I assume - told them that not all of us are to be branded. Some of us were chosen as sport and one is not to be touched at all as Sauron wants him for other reasons."

At the mention of the single unbranded elf, Lindir stiffened slightly. Would that be him? Or worse, if not him, then which elf was not to be branded?

"I assume that the unbranded elf will be you," the elf added then.

"What?"

"Well, the orcs have not touched you yet with their whips and you have a small lump on your spine. They say that the one with the lump is the one that is not to be touched."

"What lump?"

"I would touch it..." The elf broke off as another cloud of dust and stones came tumbling down to land on top of them. After it had ceased the elf continued, "I would touch it, but you are too close to me."

Lindir said nothing. That the other elves might have noticed how he was being treated differently from the other captives had occurred to him, but he had not expected any of the captives to point this out to him to his face, much less in such a friendly tone. Why, the elf behind him seemed almost to be taking him into his confidence. He wondered if there was any other reason why the elf was speaking to him thus and again wondered at his identity. "Who are you?"

"Rána, son of Rúmil."

Lindir knew his name, though he could not place a face to it and was not aware of having ever spoken to the elf in person. He knew, however, from having seen the elf's name on Erestor's copies of the tediously long payroll lists and the occasional letter from Lindon, in a region quite close to his own homeland, that the elf was a captain. He also knew that Captain Rána was paid exorbitantly more than himself and that one of his Lindon relatives was extremely fond of lavender perfume as his or her letters were always rather odorous with the scent.

"I am Lindir, son of..." he began.

"I know."

Lindir fell silent. So the elf knew him, then? He felt a little embarrassed and also a little perturbed that the other elf had known that he, a language scholar, was unacquainted with the Black Speech. He thought for a bit as to how to continue their conversation, and then ventured, "How do you know the Black Speech?"

"I had to study it as a youth in Beleriand. We had to understand and speak it to question captive orcs. But now we have what may be called a Common Speech that even the orcs seem to understand so it is no longer taught to new warriors."

"I see. How did you know that I did not know the language?"

"I have a younger sister who studies under Lord Elrond in Lindon. She is a few summers your junior."

"Her name?"

The elf gave a name that Lindir did not recognise, and then added, "I do not expect that you would remember her as she is privately tutored by Elrond and does not associate much with the other students and especially not with the males. But she often spoke highly of you when you were in Lindon."

"I see." Lindir wondered of what the elf meant by "spoke highly".

"Forgive me. This is a strange time for me to make my acquaintance with you. But I suppose it is better that we make our acquaintance now than not at all."

Lindir smiled and winced slightly when he felt his dry lips pulled under the motion and threaten to split. "Indeed."

There was another pause. Then the elf said, "they have decided to bring the forge to us and will brand us before dinner."

"Which is when?"

"I wish I knew. We came in here after midnight and have lain here for some time. I think it is past dawn now."

"But is dinner lunch or suppertime?"

"I wish I knew that too."

Lindir snorted softly. Behind him, the elf chuckled. Above them, the orcs continued to converse in loud voices, apparently oblivious to the whispering captives a few feet below them.

"May I ask a personal question?" the elf said then.

"Hm?"

"What does Sauron want with you?"

At that, Lindir's amusement faded.

When he did not respond for some time, the elf pressed. "Why does Sauron wish for you to be treated a little better than the rest of us? Or rather, not to be treated quite as badly as the rest of us? What is special about you? Did you strike a deal with him?"

Lindir chose not to respond.

"You returned late to the stables that day and you were not questioned in the same room as the rest of us," the elf continued. "Where were you?"

So the elf had been one of those elves that had waited with him on that day in the red sitting room. Lindir looked upwards and then, on seeing that the orcs were not looking in their direction, struggled to roll over to face the other elf. When he succeeded, his brow knitted as he recognised the elf as the one who had smiled at him that day; the one with shallow wounds all over his body and whose feet had left all those bloody footprints upon the carpet.

The elf was smiling at him now, his dirt-smeared brow creased slightly with both surprise and a little confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"Nay. I merely wished to look at your face."

The elf's brow shot a little higher. "Oh?" Then he smirked. "Well, do not look too closely. I am sure that it is not a pretty sight."

"Nay, the damage is only very shallow."

"I was not speaking of the damage."

Lindir stared at him a moment. Then, as he understood the elf's meaning, he snorted. "You are far too modest."

"You do not think so? Well, I am flattered."

"And I am delighted that anyone can be light-hearted enough to jest in this place."

"Call it foolish desperation."

Lindir held his eyes for a few long moments. Then, smiling, he turned back to lie in his original position with Rána lying behind him. But as the moments slid away and the orcs ceased their discussion, his smile faded once more as he wondered for how much longer any of them would have mental or physical energy enough to crack a jest.

 _Certainly,_ he thought as the recollection faded and he felt Glorfindel shift behind him in Silmo's bed, _Certainly, I do not have that sort of energy now... and I do not think Glorfindel has that energy either._

He wondered where Rána was now. Was the elf another witness? Was he in Mandos? Had he survived to come to Aman? Or was he still alive somewhere; lost in Middle-earth? He sighed and smiled slightly when Glorfindel squeezed his hand. Valar, he loved Glorfindel.

~*~

Presently Glorfindel felt Lindir shift and slide away from him. He watched the elf slip from the bed and without looking back at him, pad over to the bathroom. As his small slender form disappeared inside the room, Glorfindel lowered his gaze to the imprint that the elf had left in the pillow and on the sheets. He stared blankly at it for a time and then, when he heard the sound of splashing from the bathroom, exhaled and raised himself to crawl off the bed and head after the elf.

"Lindir, in which cupboard is the... oh! Sorry." He quickly averted his eyes.

"What is it?" Lindir voice sounded strained. Glorfindel glanced briefly back at him, long enough to see that the elf in the bath was not looking at him, but at the window, his cheeks flushed.

"In which cupboard is the food?"

"Beside the table."

"Should I set a plate for you?"

"Aye. Thank you."

"You are welcome." Glorfindel was about to turn away when he hesitated. Should he offer to help? He had helped Lindir milk himself before. He glanced back at Lindir's profile, then looked quickly away again. It felt wrong somehow. He pursed his lips, then turned and left the room to find the cupboard.

Lindir emerged soon afterwards from the bathroom. Dressed in a bathrobe, his hair tangled and wet from the shoulder down, he smiled fleetingly and wanly when Glorfindel met his gaze and took his seat at the table without a word, his eyes downcast. Glorfindel felt like he should comfort him. Glorfindel felt like the other side of the table was too far away for him to move to comfort him. He settled for reaching out and touching Lindir's hand across the table to squeeze it gently once more. Lindir glanced up and Glorfindel smiled at him. Lindir smiled his wan smile once more. Then he looked back down at his full bowl.

It was chicken soup. Perhaps Silmo was attempting to give him something light for his stomach... both their stomachs. Glorfindel picked up the roll beside his bowl and ripped it slowly in half. Then into quarters. Then he took one quarter and dipped it into the thick soup before bringing the bread to his lips. He noticed as he did so that Lindir was silently following his example and eating in identical fashion. He watched the elf poke a quarter of wet bread into his mouth, then turned his head to look away from him and the table. He looked at the window and the view of the bright blue sky over Valinor. Further away, he could descry the Pelori Mountains. That barrier that had been drawn up from the stuff of Arda just as much to keep the residents in as it was to keep outsiders out.

It vaguely reminded him of Gondolin.

The reminder did not comfort him.

Across from him, Lindir suddenly sniffed. Glorfindel glanced at him and his mouth twitched.

The elf was crying again.

~*~

"Should I leave?"

Lindir shook his head and hurriedly picked up his napkin to wipe his face with it. As he lowered the napkin, he looked up and met Glorfindel's gaze and shook his head vigorously once more. "Nay." He reached for his soup spoon and then, on glancing at Glorfindel again, noticed that the elf-lord was still eyeing him. He swallowed and looked back down at the round bowl. "It is me. I am sorry."

"I think someone should stay with you, but I wonder, are you well with me staying here or would you rather Glingal or Gloredhel or..." Glorfindel trailed off and as the moment slipped away, the names of Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden also slipped away and were left unsaid. Lindir felt numb. Was there another reason for this failure of Glorfindel's to speak their names? Lindir dared not look at him. Did Glorfindel know? Or did he at least suspect? He reached for another quarter of bread and after dipping it in his soup, stuffed it in his mouth, smearing his lips when his hand shook.

"Lindir?"

"I would that you stay with me." He meant that in every way.

"Be that as it may, I feel that I am the reason, or at least part of the reason, why you are crying so frequently now. Perhaps it would be better if Glingal or Gloredhel stayed with you."

"If you do not wish to stay with me, then please, you do not have to..."

"Ai oi!" Lindir flinched. "Lindir, this is not about me! This was never about me, Lindir. The only reason why I am still here at Taniquetil: whether on the mountain itself or on the slopes in the halls of Ingwë, is because of you."

"That is why I said that if you do not wish to stay here, then please... please," Lindir responded, his voice trembling, "please do not feel obliged to do so."

"Lindir, of course I feel obliged to do so. I am your spouse. I love you. I cannot leave here."

"I... I know that that is how you feel, but this is also why I am giving you permission to leave this place. You have such strong convictions about commitment that I-I... I..." He trailed off.

There was a long silence.

Glorfindel said then, his voice slow and a little hard. "Lindir, you confuse me. But let me make my intentions plain to you. There is no other place to which I feel I belong more than here by your side right now. This said, _if_ you wish for me to leave your side because I or my presence is hurting you, please tell me and I will leave."

"Your presence is not hurting me."

"But it is upsetting you?"

"Nay."

"Then what _is_ upsetting you?" When Lindir did not respond promptly, he prompted him, his tone a little more forceful. "Lindir?"

"I am... I am... I think I am upsetting myself." As he spoke, Lindir felt new tears brim in his eyes and he hurriedly reached for his napkin again.

~*~

Glorfindel stared at the elf sitting across from him with his face buried in his crumpled napkin for a long while. Then he exhaled sharply and felt his shoulders slump slightly. He shook his head faintly, slowly, his gaze passing blankly across the surface of the table and the barely touched meals. The creamy crumbs around their bowls fluttered in a soft breeze. He shook his head again and, taking up his own napkin from where it lay on his lap, he folded and plopped it back onto the table. It landed on his cutlery, which clinked loudly. Then he pushed back his chair and rose.

He had barely taken a step, not really paying attention to the direction in which he was heading, when he heard Lindir's voice choke amidst tears, "Where are you going?"

"To find some clear air." Glorfindel looked intently at the veil directly in front of his path for a few moments, then narrowed his eyes and turned aside to head into the bathroom. The two rooms made him feel claustrophobic. He wondered how Lindir could stand it. Or perhaps Lindir could not and that explained at least part of this madness. He stopped walking a few feet from the window beside the bath and stared hard at the blue slash of sky between the window frames.

What was he to do? What could he do? Why was Lindir crying so much? Was it his fault? Was it Lindir's fault? Was it Sauron's fault? He pursed his lips as he reflected on the last name. Sauron. What was the true nature of the Maia's relationship with Lindir? What drove him to accept Lindir's deal in the ruins of Celebrimbor's house in Eregion?

 _Valar, Lindir was naught more than a pawn in the Maia's network of lies in Eregion. A deceived little bird of information. What did he do to deserve Sauron's especial attention?_ He turned his head and glanced askance at the bathroom door through which he could still hear Lindir's muffled sobs at the table. Was it true that Lindir loved Sauron? Really truly? But even if he loved Sauron, why ask for such a deal and even moreso, why oh why did Sauron accept it? _What use does a Maia, a Dark Lord, the lieutenant of Morgoth on the face of Arda, have for a mere boy of Lindon who believed himself in love?_

He exhaled and felt his shoulders slump again. He had not noticed them tense. He licked his lips and blinked away steam from the bath when a gust of the rising warm wet mist came to brush his face. If Lindir remained silent to him, then perhaps he should speak to Sauron. If the Maia was so befriendable and so admirable a colleague to other Maiar as Ingwë would have had him believe up there in the courtroom, then perhaps he should find out Sauron's perspective on the issue of Lindir from the Maia's very own mouth. Then, surely, he would hear not only all he needed to hear regarding the Maia's relationship of Lindir, but also all that Lindir did not know himself. Glorfindel had no doubt in his mind that were he to hear the truth from Sauron's own mouth, he would learn more than he could ever learn from Lindir. However close the Maia had drawn Lindir into his confidence. However sharp Lindir's intuition with others - that intuition that had made him as a minstrel - it was still no replacement for a first hand source.

He snorted then. But what was the chance that anyone would let him speak to Sauron, much less that Sauron would speak to him? He was not only the chief witness' spouse, but also an entity that was - for the most part - unknown to the Maia.

He glared at the sky for a few more minutes. Then, as another idea came to him, he abruptly turned and strode back into the bedroom. "Lindir."

The elf looked at him, his face scrunched and red with tears. "Lindir, I am returning to the summit for a little while. I will send Glingal and/or Gloredhel down to stand in my stead until my return."

"W-Where are you going?"

"To speak to Laiglas."

Chapter 26

After Glorfindel had left, Lindir cried a little more before finally calming. Then he lowered his damp napkin and leaned across the table to take Glorfindel's napkin. Then he swallowed and sniffed and looked back at his meal. There was a slice of chicken that sat half in, half out of the thick coloured liquid. He stared at it for a bit and then, with another sniff, turned his attention downward to undo the low, but tight knot in his bathrobe and release the seeping organ that he had tucked there.

There was a soft hiss from behind him... above him. He did not bother to look to know that Silmo was standing behind and over him. "Why did you stop milking yourself earlier?" the Maia asked.

"It felt wrong with him there."

"It felt wrong? And lying to Glorfindel did not feel wrong?"

Lindir narrowed his eyes at the unhappy organ. "I did not lie to him," he replied sharply. "And aye, it is as I said: milking myself felt wrong."

Silmo was quiet for a bit. Lindir returned his attention to stroking his organ. After a while, he heard Silmo shift. Then he felt the other's chin on his shoulder and saw the Maia reach over the arm of the seat to wrap his hand over his organ and over his hand - the hand already attending to it. "Let me take over." His other hand slid - snakelike - down the other arm of the chair to rest there.

"Nay." But Lindir relented and his hand slid away and Silmo began to caress and squeeze and massage his weeping arousal. As he began to whimper and squirm with the sensations, Silmo kissed the side of his face.

"So is Glorfindel to stay with you tonight?" Silmo inquired then. Lindir shook his head slightly, his breathing harsh and fierce in the quiet room, the pounding of his heart loud in his ears.

"Aye," he gasped "But I am unsure if he will change his mind. Ah!" He clutched at Silmo's hand on the chair arm.

"Aye, he does seem unsure," Silmo commented, his lips brushing Lindir's skin as he spoke. "But to be safe, I will place another diaphragm in you when we are..." He broke off when with a choked cry, Lindir came, his erection jerking in spasms. Silmo released it and let it spurt its load in what directions it would. Lindir hurriedly covered it with Glorfindel's napkin and turned his head to look Silmo in the eye, gasping hard.

"What?"

But Silmo was already pulling at his bathrobe. "Come." He tugged at Lindir's arm, urging him to rise from the chair and towards the bed.

"Silmo, I do not think he will want to sleep with me tonight."

"Perhaps he will change his mind. But this is not a matter in which you have any choice. If it lies in my power, I will not have you distracted or hindered by an unborn child before the court." As Lindir stood, Silmo swiftly disrobed him, took him by the arm again, and led him towards the bed. He released him at the edge. "Now position yourself as you did the first time."  
"But what if I want to have a child..."

Silmo interrupted him. "Lindir, I know little of the Children of Iluvatar, but I do know that no child deserves to be conceived at such a time as this in your relationship with Glorfindel." He gazed intently at Lindir. "Now please, for the sake of both of you and Glorfindel and the child that you might beget at such a tense stage in your relationship, get on the bed."

"But what of Glingal and Gloredhel? What if they arrive in the middle..."

"Then we must make haste."

Lindir, with a sidelong, narrow glance at Silmo, crawled onto the bed and settled himself down there on his front with his face and shoulders to the sheets and his bottom in the air. Silmo crawled on behind him and Lindir turned his head to watch the Maia settle himself between his parted legs and reach into his robe to withdraw another of those strange concave spongy objects. Then two warm fingers were probing at his entrance and he hissed and widened his legs slightly to secure his balance. _Hurry up!_

Silmo seemed to hear him. "I will be swift," he replied, and Lindir felt Silmo's fingers retreat briefly before returning with the folded object. He squirmed and cried out when the Maia pressed it into him and then pushed it further to secure it deep inside his entrance. Then it was all over and Silmo was bidding him sit up.

"May I ask a question?" Silmo said as he rose from the bed and bent to retrieve Lindir's bathrobe with his clean hand. He threw it at Lindir, who caught it and shrugged it back on.

"You may." Lindir punched his right arm down the twisted right sleeve of the robe.

"Your scrotum is normal sized, but you produce quite a lot of milk. Is that milk coming from your testicles... or what is left of your testicles?"

Lindir felt his face heat up. He shook his head and looked down to fuss with the tie around his middle. "Nay, I produce my eggs in my testicles."

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Then... from where does the milk..."

"From milk glands in my abdomen." Lindir looked at the wardrobe and the door behind which hung his spare robes.

"I see."

There was another pause. Then Lindir suddenly turned his head and looked unsmilingly at Silmo. "I have seen elves with it the other way around in Dol Guldur," he said quietly. "It does not work. It occurs when the creature is a new type and not yet tested."

Silmo's face tightened. "Do not think on it now, Lindir," he said. "You have a day off tomorrow and another serious, though less gruesome matter with which you should occupy your mind."

"Such as Glorfindel and Sauron and my relationship with them?"

"Aye." Then Silmo turned away and went into the bathroom to clean his hand.

~*~

Glorfindel was beginning to understand why Eonwe had been seen as such a feared warrior in the War of Wrath.

The floor of the vast, deserted and unadorned hall in which he currently sat waiting to be attended by someone was not made of stone. It was not made of wood or bricks or soil or metal. It was not made of the soft lawns that lay at the base of the mountain.

It was made of ice and the enormous icicles that hung like the downward pointing blades of knives from the high ceiling were extremely discomforting. Added to this was a constant chill breeze that swept - whistling - across the floor and over his head. It entered the hall by way of the small ventilation holes in the floor and walls and most likely the ceiling too, but Glorfindel did not like to look too carefully at the tips of the blades.

Eonwe, he had decided, was a strange and perhaps not especially welcoming fellow towards elves. He also suspected that the Maia was an infrequent host towards the Children of Iluvatar.

 _But 'tis his house and I suppose he will do as he will do in his own home._ He looked around for a bit longer, and then sat down on a bench of frosted ice near the front door and wrapped his cloak more tightly about him. He wondered if the halls of Manwë and Elbereth were quite as unwelcoming as this one.

Another cold breeze whistled near him. It paused briefly to send searching icy fingers between the gaps in his cloak. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and raised his hands to his face to puff on them. The mist that rose from his breath warmed and wetted his face. A little colder and it would surely be as cold as the Helcaraxe here. He wondered if Eonwe had had anything to do with the design of that evil geographical feature.

~*~

As they waited for Glingal and Gloredhel to show their faces at the veil, Lindir sat cross-legged on the bed in a clean robe and twiddled his thumbs. Across from him, Silmo sat at the cleared table.

"Why did you not ask me more about what happened in Eregion?" Lindir asked suddenly. "Why only devote one day to questioning me on its fall and the fate of those taken captive? I could have shown you more scenes of violence between elves and orcs and even more at the hands of orcs towards elves."

Silmo stirred and turned his head to look at him. "Lindir, the judges already know much of what happened at Eregion at its fall. We received many _many_ people - orcs and elves and others alike - in Mandos in that time. Most of them have told their stories to Lord Namo and Lady Vaire, who are both judges. We also know much of what happened to your group in the Misty Mountains."

"Then why..."

"And yet, at the same time, we know very little for we do not have the perspective of some of those captives who were the most privy to information."

"Could not the orcs tell their stories to Namo?"

"Perhaps. But few orcs enter Mandos and not only this, but by the Second Age of the Sun, the fate of many orcs began to lie apart from elves and the beasts of Arda and instead with the Secondborn. It is not so easy to question the spirits of the Secondborn and when we do, we face the same problems that we do with questioning the Firstborn. We cannot force them to speak the unadorned truth. And as I said earlier, we also, very rarely, are blessed with the presence of those who were key witnesses by way of their rank and access to information."

"Such as I?"

"Exactly. This problem of finding a key witness is especially grave with regards to Sauron. He made his motives clear to very few individuals, if any at all, unlike his former master, Melkor who you call Morgoth. Sauron gave orders, not reasons, as some of his former colleagues under Lord Aule have told me and his actions have been shown to be frequently too complex for a simple assumed answer to suffice."

"But Sauron seems to be cooperating with the court. Why not ask him outright for his motives? Why ask a witness?"

"We use witnesses because they may confirm or disprove his word. We use witnesses to help us to paint a more truthful painting of the crimes that he has committed."

"But you do not seem to be asking me specifically about any crimes."

"Indeed, but this is because you are here to shine light on your relationship and interactions with Sauron as well as your insights into the workings of his mind."

"Then what of when he supposedly placed some of the Rings inside of me? Why did you not ask me to recall that memory?"

"Perhaps we will do so the day after tomorrow. But we ran out of time today." Here, Silmo smiled.

Lindir nodded. "I see."

~*~

"Lord Glorfindel."

The Maia smiled down at him, having recently and quite suddenly appeared standing in front of where Glorfindel sat huddled on the bench of ice. The cold blue light in his eyes gleamed and Glorfindel shivered slightly, both with cold and unease. He rose. "I have come to see Laiglas, son of Lindir," he said. At the mention of "son of Lindir", he noticed Eonwe's eyes narrow ever so slightly. He swallowed and after glancing back at his seat to confirm as he had suspected that the block had melted slightly beneath him and was no longer frosted, but instead smooth and slick and transparent, looked back at Eonwe and added, "May I see him?"

Eonwe inclined his head. "Of course. Please follow me." Then he turned away and strode down the entrance hall towards the depths of his house, his feet soundless on the frosted floor. Glorfindel followed and winced when he heard his own footsteps echo loud in the vast space. He shot a quick look upward at the blades and then turned to hasten after the Maia, trying his very best to not look as though he was scurrying.

"May I ask why you wish to see him?" Eonwe asked as they reached the curling stairs at the end of the hall and his steps slowed so that Glorfindel was walking beside him. He glanced sidelong at him. Glorfindel swallowed again.

"I wish to ask him some questions," he said. "Personal ones," he added after a pause.

"But from what I have learned, Laiglas and you do not have a very... close relationship."

Glorfindel swallowed again. "Well, I was looking to change our relationship to something more intimate."

"Hm." Eonwe reached for the banister of the stairwell and began to ascend it. Glorfindel hurried to follow, but did not touch the rail and tread tentatively on the icy stairs at first, as he was afraid he might slip. But the white opaque frost that covered them was secure beneath the soles of his shoes.

_I wonder what it would be like to fall on such a hard rough surface," he thought suddenly, and then almost as swiftly decided to think about something else. "May I ask a question?"_

_"Aye."_

_"Why are Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden housed here and not with the other elves?"_

_At this point, Eonwe stiffened slightly. Then the Maia suddenly halted and turned to look at him. "Did you see them in the courtroom?"_

_"Eh? Aye."_

_Eonwe looked at him intently for a few moments. Then he turned away and continued walking up the stairs. Glorfindel moved to follow him. "I would have thought that, considering the subjects raised at Lindir's appearance at court today, that you would have guessed why they are not housed with... _elves_." He enunciated the last word more clearly, as if he were hinting something. As if he were attempting to provide Glorfindel with a clue to the answer to a question that Glorfindel had thought before in the courtroom and not long ago with Lindir, but which he had decided he was better off not knowing._

_"Perhaps the question is in my head, but I am reluctant to acknowledge it," he ventured quietly, placing his hands together beneath his cloak and twining his fingers together._

_"Perhaps it is. But I wonder if it would be better if you heard this from Lindir's own mouth."_

_"At the moment, he seems unable to speak to me at all except in tears, a tongue that I do not have the skill to decipher."_

_"A tongue that few indeed may decipher. But you are bonded with the elf, are you not? You should be able to divine his thoughts if he is willing for you to read them."_

_"He is not willing for me to read his thoughts."_

_"So, frustrated, you have come here to read them through questioning Laiglas?"_

_"Aye."_

_"Then perhaps, judging from your relationship with Laiglas and the hesitancy of Lindo and Linden to say anything to anyone except in veiled words at this time, _I_ should tell you what they are in plain words."_

_"I would appreciate the truth."_

_"Perhaps."_

_Glorfindel waited for the answer, but Eonwe said no more for a time. They arrived at the landing and Eonwe took him down two deserted corridors and then up another flight of stairs. Then, finally, he arrived at a pair of tall closed doors. Here, he turned to face Glorfindel._

_"These are the rooms of Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden, the sons and daughter of Sauron and Lindir," the Maia said softly. "I will leave you here. Leave or request entrance as you wish. My servants will watch over you whatever path you choose." Then he melted away._

__

~*~

"Your milking..." Silmo said suddenly.

Lindir looked up from where he was fiddling now with the hem of his robe. "Aye?"

"That must have made coupling difficult with Glorfindel before your babies were weaned. There is a limited amount of milk. You cannot engage in sexual relations with him and still have enough milk left for the babe or vice versa."

Lindir's brow creased. _What is he thinking to be arriving at such a question?_ "Aye, it was difficult. We tried to use a bottle, but both Gloredhel and Glingal refused it."

"What was the solution?"

When Lindir did not respond and instead frowned harder, Silmo pressed, "Did you abstain from relations together?"

"...Sometimes."

Silmo made a rotating, rolling gesture with his hand, indicating that Lindir was to continue speaking. Lindir pursed his lips and wondered, as his thoughts slowly sorted themselves out, if Silmo had any right to ask such questions of him.

"Why are you asking?" he asked after a long silence.

"I am curious."

"This has nothing to do with the trial, then?"

"It has nothing to do with the trial."

"Then you do not have to know." Lindir looked back down at the hem of his robe.

"Did you time your encounters together until right before you had to feed the baby?"

"As I said, you do not have to know."

"Did you arrange it so that he was the only one who orgasmed?"

Lindir glared at the hem.

~*~

_The sons and daughter of Sauron and Lindir. The sons and daughter of Sauron and Lindir._ Eonwe last words toiled over and over in his head. Glorfindel stared wildly around the empty corridor, at the frost on the smooth long floor. He felt as though someone had kicked him. Repeatedly. He exhaled shakily. His hands... his body seemed to be shaking. Images of what he had seen transpire upon the screen on the courtroom's wall earlier today replayed in his head. He covered his mouth with cold-mottled trembling fingers.

Valar! Valar, what was going on? What was Lindir hiding from him? What had Sauron done to him? Done to all of them?

This had to be a jest. Surely, surely! A jest of the Valar. Tears in his eyes, he chuckled weakly. The noise reverberated around the corridor, echoed hysterically back to him. This could not be... he could not have been living with the children of Sauron. For all these millennia. With them in his house. Feeding them, clothing them, caring for them... and Valar, he had even welcomed them into Ingwe's house. Given them his name!

He leaned against the doorframe, panting, his fingers digging so hard into the bridge of his nose that he thought it might snap.

If true, should he knock on the doors and enter? If true, should he flee as far away from the doors as his feet would take him? If true, should he return to Lindir first to demand an answer of him? Demand to know the truth? Did the elf love Sauron indeed? Was that love reciprocated? Did Sauron, by some twist of fate, love Lindir? Was that why Sauron made Lindir carry his children? Was Lindir deluded at the time?

 _I always knew something was strange about Laiglas. There was always something strange... but Lindo? And Linden too?_ His fingers relaxed slightly to curl into fists against his mouth.

But if Lindir had been deluded about Sauron, then why did the elf treat his firstborn three with as much love, if not more love, than Glingal and Gloredhel, who were born indeed of love? _Lindir knows that they are Sauron's children, does he not? Surely?_

"Valar, what am I to do?" he whispered. "What am I to do?"

Silence answered him. The doors remained shut. The corridor remained deserted.

But then, behind him, he suddenly heard a familiar female voice say, softly, "What do you want to do?"

~*~

"Well, if you will not answer with regards to your relationship with Glorfindel, how about with Sauron?" Silmo continued.

Lindir closed his eyes tightly, then opened them and looked at the Maia. "As I said..."

"Oh, but Sauron _is_ related to the trial." When Lindir's eyes narrowed, Silmo's lips quirked into a small smile. "It is _his_ trial, after all."

Lindir stared at him for a time. Then he exhaled and looked back down at the hem of his robe. "Then I must disappoint you. We did not sleep together before either Laiglas or Lindo were weaned."

"Afterwards, then?"

"Nay. It was not... like that..." Lindir looked back at him and gestured aimlessly, his voice quietening. "I was not impregnated by way of lying with him. He did it the same way that he impregnated the other thralls in the hall in which I was kept for much of that time, though to my knowledge, he impregnated them with the seed of others and not his own seed."

"And what was the method of impregnation in that hall?"

"I thought you told me not to think about those times."

"I changed my mind. I think you need something to take your mind off your problems with Glorfindel."

Lindir shook his head and smiled faintly at him. "Silmo, I have been distracting myself from thinking about my problems with Glorfindel since the day he first lay with me."

"Then answer my earlier milking question with regards to Glorfindel."

"Ai! You are very persistent. But I will answer you in exchange for an explanation as to how you came to think up such a question."

"I am a servant of Irmo, Master of Dreams. It follows that I know much and think much about the fantasies of others."

"That answer is too vague."

"Then I will say that Glorfindel cast you sidelong glances when you were in the bath earlier."

Lindir felt his face heat up. "Again, that answer is too vague."

"Then I will say that I looked on Glorfindel and wondered what he thought of your changed body and how your body came into his sexual fantasies."

Lindir felt his face blush harder. Deep inside, he was squirming with both delight and embarrassment. "Then I will say that both of your guesses were correct."

"Oh? You did not find a wet nurse?" Silmo sounded surprised.

"There were no elvish wet nurses available at the time. Glorfindel offered to find one from among the Secondborn. I refused and Elrond agreed with me. There was a common disease in the breast milk of the local Secondborn women and I did not wish to take any chance that Gloredhel and Glingal might be infected. True, the Firstborn do not sicken from many of the same ills that affect the Secondborn, but a parent will still worry for their child."

"I see."

In the ensuing quiet, Lindir swallowed and looked back down at the hem of his robe.

Suddenly, Silmo rose. "Glingal and Gloredhel are here."

"Silmo, wait a moment," Lindir said then. He did not look up from the hem, at which he now began to pick with his middle finger and thumb.

"What is it?"

Lindir swallowed once more. "I did not answer your question... with the whole truth."

"Oh?" Silmo's voice softened. "Well, as you said, you do not have to tell me everything."

Lindir smiled thinly at the robe. "Aye, but an answer for an answer and I think I need some practice at telling the truth."

"I see. Then what is it?"

"Sometimes..." Lindir said softly, "sometimes - very rarely - I did run out of milk and on one occasion I was unable to feed Glingal. When that happened, Laiglas would feed them."

Silmo was silent for a time. Then he said, "Does Glorfindel know about this?"

Lindir shook his head. "Nay." He hesitated, then ventured, "Should I tell him?"

"I do not know." Then Silmo walked over to the veil and drew it aside.

~*~

He spun around to look at Linden. She stared intently back at him, unsmiling, her expression tense. But then, as the moments slipped away, the tension left her face. It did not leave Glorfindel's. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you...? How long...?"

"I just arrived. I went to visit Glingal." Her eyes flicked across his face. In return, he scanned the black tresses that framed her pale face, the same colour as Sauron's. "Did Lindir tell you, then?"

He assumed they were speaking about the same thing. He shook his head slightly. "Nay. Eonwe did so."

"I see. Just now?"

He nodded.

"Why did you come here, then, if not to speak to us on our blood?"

"I came to speak to Laiglas. To ask him about Lindir's relationship with Sauron. But now I wonder if you might help me." Her manner eased him a little, as ever it had done, and now he hoped that he might not have to speak to Laiglas at all.

But she only smiled faintly. "I am afraid I know little of their relationship. I have not even met Sauron save in court." Then she moved around him to grasp one of the handles of the two doors and push the door open. Warm air and rich golden light rushed out to greet them. Glorfindel swallowed. "Come in," she said. When he hesitated, she added softly, "We are the same as we ever were, Papa."

He did not believe her, and swallowing once more, inclined his head with a meekness that he had never felt in his bones when addressing her before, and walked before her into the rooms.

Chapter 27

Lindir never found if the orc had used the word "dinner" in reference to lunch or dinner. All he knew was that time passed and then he stirred to hear the slide of ladders and orcs climbing down into the pit with a great clattering and clanging of noise. On seeing that some of the other elves, including Rana, had sat up to observe them, he sat up as well.

The orcs, it seemed, had brought the forge indeed. Lindir stared at the piles of manacles and cuffs and chains and other restraints that the orcs at the top of the pit were throwing down to those that had climbed below. It all seemed unreal, somehow. He watched a great hulking fellow suddenly appear at the top and climb down, a great hammer in his right fist. Another, thinner, but no less strong fellow, climbed down after him with another hammer. Then came another who looked more like the first orc.

"These, I assume, are their blacksmiths," Rana said then to him in a low voice. He grinned when Lindir turned his head to stare at him.

"How can you be so cheerful?"

"What else should I be if I do not wish to be afraid?"

Lindir looked at him for a time. Then he shook his head slightly. "Unless you be Tulkas, I fear I cannot rejoice with you."

"Ai, you tell me that you may not rejoice when you are the one who is to be spared the brand?"

"It may not be me. Do not bolster my hopes." Lindir shivered when he saw first one, then three large iron buckets of glowing coals lowered into the pit. The smiths directed the orcs around them to bring them to the corner opposite where they lay and there set them down. A dark thick metal handle protruded from one of the buckets. The brand? Lindir leaned back.

"And now, may I presume, that you are wondering why oh why our rescuers are so late?" Rana commented softly, not turning his eyes from the orcs.

Escape? Such a word had never occurred to him. How strange. Lindir lowered his head to hide the growing crease in his brow.

_What will I do, should the opportunity to escape present itself?_

Rana interrupted his thoughts. "Ah, I see the blacksmith has an eye for the hair of the Vanyar."

Lindir looked back at the orcs to observe that they had chosen a golden haired elf at the far end of the line to be their first victim. He had anticipated resistence, or at least a cry of protest from the elf as he was led over to the buckets and the waiting blacksmiths. But there was only sullen silent complicity with the orcs' orders. Only the tight pale expression of the elf, the tension in his held back shoulders, and the slowness of his shuffling gait indicated his terror... or was it anger in those dark eyes? Lindir could not tell. All he knew was that the elf's manner made a pit of terror plunge open in his own stomach. He winced and closed his eyes tightly when he heard the sudden impact of the brand and the sizzling of flesh on the elf's front - just below his left collarbone. Then it was over and the elf was being led to the second of the other buckets to have his bonds changed to chains.

"Well, Halmir has set the mood of this ordeal," Rana said as the first smith - the one with the brand - indicated for the orcs to seize another elf. Lindir heard a note of pride in the captain's voice and he turned his head to look at him.

"You sound proud. Or awed."

"I am both. He led the force of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel that remained in Eregion to assist us and he has just saved the rest of us from a harsher dealing of the whip."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if he had screamed and shouted and protested, then the orcs would have expected us to behave the same and handled us harsher than him. But because of his apparent willingness, they may even handle the rest of us less roughly than they did him."

Lindir looked back at the second elf, who was meeting with his fate with the brand a little less silently than his predecessor. He gasped and cried out a little, but it was all over very quickly and then he was being turned away to meet the third blacksmith who began to change his bonds to chains. "I see."

The golden haired elf, Halmir, was released now and the third elf was chosen. As the third went to the brand, Halmir was led to the end nearest to Lindir. As he sat, he glanced at the rest of them without expression. Lindir looked at the mark on his chest and wondered what it would look like when healed. When Halmir glanced at him and Rana then - and met his eye - Lindir lowered his eyes.

"Are you unwell?" Rana asked suddenly.

Lindir looked back up and at him. "Eh?"

"You lowered your head. I thought you might be feeling unwell."

"I do feel unwell." Who would not?

Rana's lips just quirked into a small smile and then he looked back at the orcs to observe the fourth elf - yet another who he did not recognise - who was now going up to be branded. Lindir followed his gaze and looked away quickly when he saw the brand nearing the elf's skin. But then he suddenly found himself looking at the Vanya elf's brand-mark again and the brand-mark of the second branded elf who was now taking a seat beside Halmir. He looked away quickly from those as well and found himself looking back at Rana.

Why was it, he suddenly wondered, why was it that Rana spoke so much to him? If the elf knew most of the other captives, then why choose to speak to him? Someone he did not know at all? Not that Lindir did not appreciate the intimacy that Rana had created between them, but even so, why him?

"Lindir."

He blinked. Rana was looking at him. "What?"

Rana nodded at the orcs and Lindir looked at them to observe that two of them were coming towards him and the blacksmith beside the brand bucket was eyeing him with pursed lips. He tried to swallow, but found for some reason that he could not. His lungs seemed to have frozen within him. His limbs felt sluggish and yet perhaps not. Perhaps it was rather that time seemed to be slowing down around him.

They reached down and seized him by his arms to jerk him up. His feet automatically reached out to find the floor, but he did not anticipate how much the bonds on his feet would hinder his stride and he almost tripped and then stumbled the remainder of the way to the first bucket.

He was an embarrassment to the rest of them.

At the bucket, the orcs halted and he halted with them. He only spared a glance at the brand and the glowing contents of the first bucket and instead turned his eyes to the other buckets and the blacksmith busy hammering closed the cuffs on the elf before him. In his ears, he heard the hulking orc's heavy tread come behind him. He cringed in anticipation; slipped his tongue as far away from his teeth as possible so that he would not bite it...

But then, all of a sudden, instead of a brand on his back, a callusced hand - the blacksmith's hand - touched a distinct lump on his spine... a lump that he had not believed existed until now, but which he felt now with startling clarity. Then the smith shouted and someone above them - some orc that was watching from above the pit - replied, and Lindir gave a shuddering gasp as the orcs began to move him onwards to the other buckets to have his bonds changed. He had been saved and Rana had been right.

It seemed that his chains were to be different from the other elves as well. For he was not cuffed with manacles closed by the heat and hammer of the smith, but rather with removable chains that were secured by lock and key. Then, just as he thought his lesser ordeal was all over, the smith attending his bonds suddenly spoke to the orcs holding him and they held him there for a little longer while the smith turned to rummage through his pile of chains. When he turned back to him, it was with a thin smooth band of metal in his hands. There was a break in the loop at one side and here there were two hoops.

The smith slipped it around Lindir's neck, around his hair as well, and fastened it at his neck with another lock. One of the orcs holding Lindir laughed then and said something to the smith, who laughed. Then the smith looked in Lindir's eyes and reached out to tug on the lock at his throat.

"Woof!" he said. Lindir flinched. The smith laughed and nodded at the orcs holding him to say that he could go back to the elves.

He sat down with a thump between two strange elves with sullen expressions who looked him up and down and then proceeded to pay him no attention. Lindir swallowed and, drawing his knees to his chest, put his arms around them and exhaled quietly. Inside, he was just glad that his ordeal was over.

It seemed a long time until Rana was called up to be branded; the elf was one of the last to face the smiths. The elf winced when the brand met his flesh, but otherwise appeared calm. Calm like most of the other elves. Indeed, Lindir thought he had shown the most fear of all of them. As he thought this and watched Rana come over to sit back down, he looked away from the elf. Indeed, he was an embarrassment to all of them.

Soon afterwards, the smiths withdrew from the pit and the buckets and piles of chains were replaced with something far more cheering. In place of the buckets was set down a large rectangular trough which four orcs filled with water. Then a bag of black bread - black from fire as well as bran - was emptied down in a great pile around it. Then the remaining orcs in the pit climbed out, pulled up the ladder and left them alone.

Nobody moved at first. Lindir stared at the bread and the trough. The bread, he knew, would taste more dreadful than it looked, for orcs ate worse than the Secondborn and the bread in the pile looked like the bad bread of the orcs own dinner, but it still tempted him, as did the water.

He looked to the other elves for direction. Those bolder elves who had handled their fear better before the brand. Those elves who he did not know at all save for Rana... though arguably he did not know Rana at all either. Those elves whose first impression of him had been as a shivering fearful elf who could not control his fear and had been spared from the brand and the permanent chains as if he were somehow more privileged - or better connected with orcs than the rest of them. And then, as this thought sunk in he felt his shoulders slump and his chin tremble. And when he observed first a few elves and then the rest of them rise to head over to the trough and the bread, some speaking softly amongst themselves as if they were old friends, he did not move to follow them.

~*~

~*~

After a while, Rana emerged from the elves gathered around the food and drink and shuffled over to sit down beside him. Lindir lowered his hands from where he had been tugging experimentally at his collar. "You are not hungry?" He held out one of four thick chunks of black bread. It looked wet as if Rana had soaked it in the water. Lindir glanced at his face and then reached out and took the offering.

"Thank you." He bit into it slowly and chewed. It was hard, salty, and dry and very burnt, but that did not deter him. He chewed quickly and sucked greedily at the water that it had soaked up.

"So you _are_ hungry, then," Rana commented.

Lindir just grunted and stuffed more of the bread in his mouth. Rana continued to look at him for a time, then turned back to his own bread and began to eat. When Lindir finished his bread, Rana gave him another of his own. Then they both rose and went over to the pile to get some more.

It was not long before the pile of bread had disappeared and they began to wonder what was to happen next to them or if they were to be left alone until the next meal. It was not long before they got their answer when all of a sudden, another group of orcs arrived and lowered one of the ladders back into the pit. Four orcs then climbed down and indicated that they were to climb up. Once again, Halmir rose first and the other elves followed his example. The elf of Lorinand must be great indeed.

Lindir rose after Rana and moved to follow him, but as they passed the orcs, one of them suddenly said something - a sharp loud sound that sounded like an order - and grabbed him by the arm to stop him from walking onwards with Rana and the rest. Lindir obeyed - what else could he do? - and watched the moving elves and hoped that another elf might be stopped with him.

But the orcs did not stop any of the other elves and alone Lindir watched the elves climb up the ladder and walk away out of sight. It was only then that the orc holding him released him and that was so that the orc might go over to the ladder and climb up with the rest of his collleagues, leaving Lindir alone and confused in the middle of the bottom of the pit. The ladder was pulled up and then the orcs went away. The number of guards dwindled back to two. The light flickered and then dimmed.

Lindir swallowed and went over to the trough to drink a little more water. Then he sat down beside the crumbs of the bread pile, put his arms back around his knees, and waited for the other elves to return.

One of the guard went away from the edge and there was a trickling noise from the top of the pit; near one of the walls up there. A rank smell tickled his nostrils and Lindir wrinkled his nose. The guard coughed. Then he came back to his post.

~*~

~*~

It seemed like a long time before they returned. So long, in fact, that Lindir had begun to fear that they would not return to him at all and that he was alone in the pit. But then they came back. First it was the creak of the ladder and shuffle and clank of chains that alerted him to their arrival and caused him to sit up from where he lay in fitful slumber upon the floor, and then, more intimately as they climbed down the ladders and came closer, the smell of sweat and stone and dust and fire that clung to their skin. He looked for Rana and spotted the elf when the other looked up and met his eyes and smiled. But the smile did not meet Rana's eyes. Lindir noticed that some elves were missing and among them, Halmir, the golden-haired elf of Lorinand and the young elf that had been lying before him when they had first arrived in the pit.

"Where are the rest?" he asked when Rana sat down beside him. "Oh, but you are bleeding!" he exclaimed then when he saw the weeping red lines descending from a matted dark spot on Rana's brow at the hairline. "What happened?"

"Oh, they had us repair some passageways and a rock fell on my head," Rana said. "I saw it falling, but I could not move. They chained our feet together in a room up there. It seems they know their elvish prisoners well. Ah, nay! Nay, there is no need for you to tend it." But he bent his head and allowed Lindir to search the wound with his fingers until Lindir was satisfied that the wound was not serious and very shallow. "What did you do today?" he asked then.

"I? I did nothing. They left me here and I feared I would not see you again."

"But at least you now know the purpose of that collar of yours is not to mock you, but to make you easier for them to identify," Rana said then.

"Eh? A-aye, I suppose so." Lindir smiled and then looked about the other elves. He noticed that many of them were already lying on the floor of the pit and looking as if they were in revelrie. Some, however, were talking in hushed voices between themselves, their faces pale. Lindir looked back at Rana. "Why have only some of you returned?" he asked.

"I do not know where they have gone," Rana said. "They told those elves that they were to work in a different passageway when they let us take a drink break at a stream up there. I have not seen them since then." His brow creased. "I am worried about them, but I fear there is nothing we may do except wait for them and perhaps listen carefully to the orcs' conversations so that we might glean some clue of their whereabouts." There was a pause during which Lindir waited in hope that Rana might tell him news of what he had heard whilst working in the passageways, but when Rana next stirred, it was to pat Lindir's arm and say, "I am tired, Lindir. I will rest awhile and if there is still time after I wake, I will tell you my news." Then he lay down beside Lindir who watched his eyes unfocus before turning away and looking to the other elves who were still awake. Some of them met his gaze, but none of them spoke to him. Soon afterwards, the last two of them lay down and went to sleep and then Lindir was the only one still awake. He looked up at the top of the pit and wondered when Halmir and the rest would return.

It turned out that as Rana had feared, there was no time for him and Rana to talk. Neither did Halmir and the rest return to them. The orcs returned to herd them off even before Rana had woken and then Lindir was once again left all alone at the bottom of the pit.

He wondered what had happened to Halmir and the young elf and the rest. Had they been killed? Had they escaped? Had they been set to some other task that was longer and harder? Had they been taken to a different prison?

Time passed. Rana and the rest returned to sleep and feed and drink. Then they went away again. Then they came back. Then they went away again. Lindir began to lose count of how many times he had been left alone in that pit. He asked Rana, who measured the days by the number of meals. Rana told him how many days had passed: six days to a week and then it was ten and then it was eleven and then it was twelve and two weeks has passed since they had arrived in the mountains.

One of the elves who had been missing returned on that day. He returned when Rana and the rest were away, working as Rana assured him, at mending the passageways. His limp body was fair thrown down - on his front - beside Lindir. Lindir wondered if he were dead so he reached over to touch him. The other whimpered. Later, when the rest returned, Rana and another elf turned him over so that they might speak to him and help him to eat and drink, Lindir saw them recoil at the sight.

"Elbereth!" the elf that was not Rana, but who Lindir had gathered was a friend of the one on the floor, then hissed, "what did they do to you?"

But the elf, though he tried, he could not speak save in a pitiful incomprehensible whimpering moan. They had cut out his tongue. Later, Lindir realised that the orcs had done so to prevent him from trying to bite it off.

Rana did not sleep on that break. Neither did most of the other elves. They stayed awake and when the orcs looked away, the friend of the elf wrapped the chain between his cuffs around his friend's neck and twisted it tight while Rana held still his legs while he shuddered and flailed. Then the elf moved no more.

"Why?" Lindir whispered to Rana, when the elf at last left the body and the friend and came over to sit in his accustomed space beside him. "He could still move." His voice trembled.

"What use is there for an elf who may not see? Who may not talk? Who looks so grotesque that one cannot bear to look at him?"

"Why, you are as evil as them!" When Rana attempted to touch him, Lindir shoved him away. "Do not touch me!"

But later he understood. Rana had spoken to him from the perspective of the orcs. What indeed was the use of a prisoner who could not see to move to work? That day he understood was many days later when Rana made another translation of a conversation between three guards to him and Lindir heard that word a second time. Sport.

"What is sport?" he asked.

Rana just told him to let him sleep. Lindir would not have it. "What is sport?" he hissed.

"Something that one does not wish to know," Rana told him. "Now let me sleep."

"What is sport?"

"A nightmare."

"What is sport?"

Rana had risen then and reached for him to embrace him. He stroked the back of Lindir's head and said, gazing intently in his eyes, a tight smile on his face. "You have made a deal with Sauron. You will know in time. Do not try to speed to your fate. It will come to you."

Lindir felt his face crumple. He stared at Rana through brimming eyes. "Am _I_ sport?"

"A thrall is always sport in the end, Lindir. Now let me rest."

It was not until much later. Much, much later. He was in Barad-dur, then. It was so much later that Lindir had lost track of the weeks and months and even a sense of the passing of centuries by then, when he at last saw sport with his own eyes. Of course, there were many types of sport. Orc sport, Sauron sport... and the sport that he and others provided for Sauron was of a more sinister, more lingering, more crippling nature. Even now, he wondered if Sauron's reciprocation of his love, if it could be called reciprocation, was mere sport on his part. If making him bear his children was also sport.

Again, he wondered where Rana was now. In the pit, they counted the days until even Rana and then all of them were unsure of the date. First it was twenty-four. Then it was thirty-six, and then thirty-eight, and then they could not decide whether it was forty-eight or forty-nine.

Each night, Rana slept beside him. When it was cold, Lindir shuffled to lie closer to him. He grew familiar with the other's scent... with all of their scents. The smell of sweat and grime and filth that lay rank about them. The burnt bitter taste of the bread - brittle and salty when fresh, wet and tasteless when old. When an elf disappeared, though none of them came back in the same condition as the one that other day, if at all, he missed their scent even if he had never exchanged a word with them.

On Rana's counsel, he took up the task of cleaning the cell as best he might when they were absent. When he had nothing else to do, he would listen to the orcs talk and continue to struggle to learn their language.

And then, one time when he was alone, a long long time after they had lost count of the date, Sauron came back.

Chapter 28

The ice furniture, somewhat to Glorfindel's relief, did not extend into Laiglas', Lindo's, and Linden's rooms. Even so, his reception by Lindir's eldest, in spite of Laiglas' smile, was distinctly cold.

"Glorfindel." Laiglas' voice was smooth as he rose from where he sat beside the window and smiled at him. The smile did not meet his eyes and somehow, Glorfindel sensed that Laiglas did not want him to feel comfortable. He swallowed.

"Laiglas."

In the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Linden move to take a seat beside the fireplace and the silvery-grey - silvery-grey? He turned his head to check that his eyes were not lying to him. But aye, the flames _were_ silvery-grey indeed. Linden smiled at him, but her brow had creased. He smiled and looked back at Laiglas.

"Is something the matter?" Laiglas asked.

 _Aside from the fact that I am speaking to Sauron's children?_ Glorfindel nodded slowly and smiled. "Your fire is silver." He threaded his hands behind his back and straightened slightly, rather pleased with having found such a trivial... almost silly opening topic of conversation.

"Ah. Aye, 'tis indeed silver."

"Are all the fires silver in Eonwe's house?"

Laiglas looked at the fire, his smile still on his face. "I believe so." He looked back at him.

"Ah."

Laiglas' eyes narrowed. "Hm."

"How interesting."

"Indeed." Laiglas blinked slowly, his long eyelashes falling and lifting like a majestic curtain.

In the corner, Linden suddenly shifted and exhaled softly, nervously. They glanced at her. Linden exchanged a look with Laiglas, her expression worried. Laiglas, however, only seemed pleased at whatever she had told him. He looked back at Glorfindel and tilted his head to one side. "So you know, then?"

"I know."

"Curious. Why are you here, then?" Laiglas cocked his head to the other side, still smiling in that discomforting manner. Glorfindel swallowed. Here was the real opening. Laiglas had handed him the dice and it was now his responsibility... choice... to begin the exchange. He looked between them: at Laiglas' smug expression and Linden's anxious one and decided to keep it brief and to the point. Laiglas looked uncommonly energetic and enthusiastic, as if he was looking for a game. His playfulness in answering Glorfindel's ridiculous opening about the fire was proof enough. There was no sign of that bitterness, that closed-off aloofness that Glorfindel had come to expect from him. A light shone in Laiglas' eyes that rang with cold ruthless animosity towards him and... more brightly, was it...? Was that triumph?

"What is Lindir's relationship with Sauron?"

He had expected an indirect response. Perhaps "maybe"; the answer that already lurked in his head. Perhaps an answer that would open up a lengthy discussion between them. Laiglas had, after all, only been witness to Lindir's last years in thraldom. He had seen little of Lindir's relationship with Sauron. Thousands of summers sat between Laiglas and the beginning of Lindir and Sauron's relationship, even if he was their son. What did he know?

And yet, even so, he had seen vastly more than Glorfindel. Glorfindel was in no doubt that Laiglas was closer to the truth than he was. Laiglas always was, after all.

In hindsight, though, he had to wonder at his own stupidity, at his own swiftness to forget that Laiglas looked and was indeed playing a game with him. The question was not what did Laiglas know, but what did Laiglas want him to think. There was no closeness between them before so why should there be any now? Why should he expect a truthful response? And yet he had.

He had asked the wrong question and he would pay dearly for it.

Laiglas' smile faded. The cold hardness in his black eyes remained, however.

"Glorfindel," he said then, "Lindir and Sauron are bonded. That is all."

"So you... think they are in love?"

"Why else? Why would a Maia bond themselves to an elf if not in love with them? As for Lindir, you saw his desire for Sauron with your own eyes today and... well," he broke off, his gleaming eyes still gazing intently, ruthlessly at him, "...well, you saw both of them."

~*~

In Silmo's room, Silmo suddenly rose from where he stood near the door to the bathroom. Gloredhel and Glingal, who were sitting at the table, and Lindir, who was on the bed, looked at him. Silmo smiled slightly."Forgive me. I must leave you for a short while."

Lindir nodded. Glingal followed his example and also nodded. Gloredhel did not. Silmo inclined his head, then turned and left the room through the veil.

There was a silence. Then Gloredhel looked back at them and said, "So where were we?" He smiled.

"You were telling us about your travels in that... woodland and that... lake?" Glingal offered. Lindir smirked. So like him, Glingal had also drifted during Gloredhel's story telling and forgotten the name of the wood... whatever it was. As for the lake... well, Lindir had forgotten that there even was a lake. He felt his mouth move to yawn and quickly suppressed it. Valar, but Gloredhel was a terrible storyteller. He supposed, however, that he should rejoice in that he had to listen to a tedious story rather than tell his own. He had feared that his sons would demand an explanation of him as to his relationship with Sauron, but after their initial questions and offer to let him remain silent until he was ready to tell them the whys and hows, they had said no more on the matter.

Gloredhel seemed to sense their disinterest as he finished the continuation of his story with a rather abrupt, "Ah, well I travelled for another few weeks and then headed northwards to have a look at Valimar. That was when I met Lindo."

"And together, you came to Ingwë's halls," Glingal finished.

"Ah, indeed." Gloredhel glanced sidelong at him; his eyes slightly narrowed. But his expression soon relaxed. He looked at Lindir. "I was a little disappointed to be whisked so soon away from Ingwë's halls. I was rather looking forward to meeting Glingal's new sweetheart and, more curiously to me, Glorfindel's more direct relatives. Glingal tells me that they are quite fearsome towards Glorfindel and us. Ah well. I shall see them when Ingwë instructs us to return, which may well be tonight."

"Ah." Lindir felt his smile fade slightly. "They are... a little fierce."

"Why do they dislike Glorfindel so much?"

"Well..." Lindir hesitated. "I believe they do not dislike him so much as... disapprove of what he has done and his apparent unrepentance in their eyes."

"What has he done? Besides saving many hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives... nay, he saved the hobbit with the One Ring, so perhaps he saved all of Middle-earth..."

Lindir snorted. Beside Gloredhel, Glingal laughed. "Brother," he said, "I think the House of Ingwë is thinking more of Glorfindel's part in the kinslaying at Alqualondë. Also, that he rejoices in the sword when the House of Ingwë is a place of compassion and peace."

"From what I heard of the Queen, she has no compassion for Glorfindel." Gloredhel said. "Lindir, what do you think?"

Lindir shook his head. "I think Glorfindel has hurt the House of Ingwë almost as much as they have hurt him. I also think that we, especially I, are responsible for the current coldness towards Glorfindel and us in that house."

"They do not approve of you, then?" Gloredhel asked.

Lindir inclined his head.

There was a long silence.

Gloredhel broke the silence again. "But even so," he said. "To reject the son because he does not love a female..."

"I do not think Lindir is talking so much about his not being female," Glingal interceded. "Although I think his nature as a male who may bear children in similar fashion to a female is part of the issue."

"That is what I meant, Glingal, but I was unclear. Lindir?"

Lindir smiled tightly.

There was another long silence.

Glingal was the next to speak this time. "Lindir," he said, "is your family in Valinor?"

Lindir blinked. Then his smile slackened and grew faint. "I do not know. I have not spoken to them since I was in Eregion. They may still yet be in Lindon."

"They lived at the Havens?"

Lindir nodded. "Aye. My father and mother and older sister."

Gloredhel leaned forward slightly in his seat. "What happened to them?"

"I do not know. I lost contact with them when I left Eregion."

"Did you not attempt to contact them when you came to Imladris?"

"I just... did not contact them." Lindir's smile faded completely as he heard his words ring out into the cold air. It was true. He had indeed not written or tried to write to them since the day the last messenger from Eregion left for Lindon. Not for celebratory days; not for their begetting days.

He exhaled and pursed his lips and looked down at the hem of his robe again. "Perhaps," he said, "they are in Alqualondë."

"I checked and did not find their names on the register of Alqualondë when I visited King Olwë's halls," Gloredhel said then. "They are not there."

"Perhaps Tirion, then."

"I have checked the records in Tirion as well."

"Then the woodlands..." Lindir looked up and smiled faintly at them. "Perhaps they are still on Middle-earth or in Mandos."

"You do not seem enthusiastic to see them again."

"I am not."

"Why?"

Lindir shook his head, still smiling. "Nay, but people change over time and... I..." He shrugged.

There was another long silence and when it was broken, the topic was changed.

~*~

"So..." Glorfindel winced. He felt as if the elf... or half-maia or whatever he was had just kicked him. "So you believe Sauron loves Lindir and vice versa? But-but if so, why did Lindir flee Dol Guldur?"

"He left because Olórin persuaded him to do so. He left because Olórin coaxed him to fear for the safety of Laiglas and Lindo... and Linden." Laiglas nodded slightly in the direction of the fireplace and Linden beside it. She swallowed and inclined her head in silent agreement when Glorfindel followed his gaze and met her eyes.

Glorfindel looked back at Laiglas. "But why would you be in danger?" He gestured at them. "You are Sauron's children. Surely you would have been in no danger at all if Sauron loved... loves..." the word made him recoil, "...Lindir."

"Sauron loves Lindir and yet he conducted experiments on him. Why then could he not conduct experiments on us as well? We are his only children, but Sauron does not draw lines between what can and cannot be a subject for an experiment. Lindir was afraid for us... and Linden, who was still unborn. That was why he accepted Olórin's offer to help us escape."

Glorfindel swallowed. In his mind, he searched for some hole, some fraying part in Laiglas' argument, in the words that the half-elf was telling him with such a straight face. But all that came to him was another, still unspoken, and far more distressing question. If Lindir loved Sauron and still did so, where then did he fit? Was he like Indis to Finwë or was this another strange sort of relationship entirely?

Perhaps it was truly that simple. That he was indeed Lindir's second love and Lindir was capable of what Glorfindel did not believe was possible in his own heart. To be able to love and bond himself to two elves. He could not do it. It went against every scruple in his mind.

Laiglas spread his hands. "I will be plain with you. Would Lindir lie to you if he loved you, Glorfindel? Did you not take Lindir and us into your house because of Gloredhel and not out of love for us? You did not love Lindir and he did not you when you seduced him into your bed, if seduction that may be called, for you never stopped to question Lindir's intentions in that heated moment, did you? Think! But whereas you fell in love with him, he never did so for you. He is already in love. He is already bonded."

So it was not as for Indis with Finwë then? There was no second love? "Then why me?" Why me? His mind screamed the words at him. The answer that his mind spoke, however, he refused to hear. He did not wish to hear it. It would break his heart, surely, if it were true!

But Laiglas made him hear it. "You were convenient. He knew you would make him pregnant and that you would have to take him in, all of us in. That was the only reason why he ever slept with you."

~*~

When someone entered cavern in which the pit lay, Lindir was usually alerted to his or her arrival by a noise. Perhaps it would be by way of a greeting from the guards. Perhaps the clinking of chains. Perhaps the soft crunch and scuff of hard soled orc shoes on the rock. Perhaps even, when it was an especially agile elf, it was the creak of the ladder as he descended it to come to feed and rest.

When Sauron arrived, there was no such warning. Not even the ladders bent under his cloaked and armoured weight. Lindir stirred to find the tall black figure standing at the bottom of the ladder on the floor of the pit. Observing him. He sat up and, not at first sure if indeed it was Sauron or perhaps some other similar being in black armour, for he could sense none of that menace that he sometimes felt from the Maia, and whispered, "Master?"

Sauron said nothing. He simply gestured for him to rise and follow him from the pit. Lindir did so, shivering when Sauron suddenly reached out and encouraged him towards the ladder with a hand to his back. Years had passed indeed; it had indeed seemed like an eternity, but that touch! That touch sent the sweetest sparks down his back and he shivered not with fear, but with gladness. He watched Sauron swiftly climb the ladder before him, eyes glazed in wondering disbelief. He felt dizzy and when he finally gripped the rungs of the ladder and began to heave himself up, his limbs shook.

He was leaving the pit. He really was! He really was! And then, when he happened to glance down as he neared the top and saw the plunging shadows that masked the deep black floor, his limbs shook even harder as they should not for any elf and all of a sudden he felt scared... more than scared: terrified! He was leaving a place that he had grown to know, a place that seemed safe, a place with a friend... But where was he going now?

He stumbled, trembling, from the ladder. He thought he might have fallen, but Sauron was waiting for him.

Lindir expected to be given the right to walk to wherever lay their destination, so Sauron surprised him by suddenly reaching around him and lifting him in his arms. It was not comfortable and Lindir wondered why he would do such a thing for a few moments until he suddenly noticed how quickly Sauron was striding from the deserted cavern - when had the guards left? - and into the labyrinth passageways that lay beyond. Ah! So they were in a hurry. He leaned his head against the other's breastplate and tried to ignore the jolting of his head against the cold metal. How raw his cheekbones felt against the hard surface! He must have lost more weight than he had imagined. He looked up at the helmeted face.

"Where are we going?" he dared to ask.

"To Barad-dur... when I am finished here," Sauron replied, not looking down at him.

"What about the other elves?"

"Perhaps some of them will follow later." They walked for a time and then Sauron suddenly asked, "Why? Do you have close friends among them?"

"Aye. There is one elf: Rána."

"Do you enjoy his company?"

"Aye." Lindir was a little confused by the question. Rána was his friend. Of course he would... "He has looked after me."

Sauron said nothing more and they continued on down the passageways in silence, ducking in and out of mostly small and sometimes large corridors. On the occasion, they would meet an orc, who would recoil backwards against the walls of the passageway as if he had been faced with a menacing presence, a lone prowling warg, that Lindir could not perceive. He frowned.

Abruptly they came to an alcove archway in one of the smaller passageways. A thick wooden door lay inset in the deep wall. Sauron lowered Lindir to the floor and opened the door to usher him in first before following himself, ducking slightly under the low door.

Inside was a deserted, but brightly lit and rather comfortable and luxurious looking room. It had been cut from the rock, though one had to look hard to see the rock of the mountains beneath the luxuries that drenched it and the rich golden-red glow of the crackling fire at the low mantelpiece at one side. Lindir, after gazing around a moment with a frown at the lavish seats and fur throws and rugs and deep and richly carven chests and tables, realised all of a sudden that he recognised some of the pieces. They were from Eregion. They were all from Eregion. Mouth slightly agape, he turned to look at Sauron.

But Sauron was not looking at him. The Maia was closing the door. Lindir watched him slide three of the largest seven bolts home. Then Sauron turned back to look at him and gestured silently for him to take a seat. Lindir did so, then looked back at Sauron, but only the closing wave of two heavy curtains that hung over a portion of the wall answered his questioning gaze.

Whilst looking around the room he happened to glance directly across from where he sat and found himself staring at a rather wretched scabby brown and huddled figure amongst the velvet blue cushions on the wide seat. It took him a few moments to realise that it was his reflection. Oh, but he looked dreadful! He looked about for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the white fur throw that hung over the back of the seat and pulled it about his shoulders to hide his naked grimy body.

There was a soft creak and then, very abruptly, a soft and rather curious squeaking and grunting noise broke through Lindir's presumption that the room... correction, rooms, were deserted. He waited a few moments. Then, overcome with curiosity, rose and hobbled, carrying the throw with him, through the curtains and into another room richly furnished with Eregion furniture. A door was open in that room that looked the likely culprit of the creak and whose contents emitted the telling noises. He peeked around the door jamb and his brow creased when, on looking past Sauron who was standing just within, he saw two very naked - one squat and black, one thin and white - figures engaging in a certain practice on a certain 1453 drape bed of Mírdain design. His frown deepened when, on looking closer at the white-skinned fellow, he recognised him as the young elf that had lain before him when they had first arrived in the pit. That elf who had disappeared with Halmir and those few elves that first time that they had left the pit and left Lindir there all alone. Surely it was him! A little thinner, perhaps, but it was him.

His suspicions were confirmed when a few moments later the orc spied Sauron at the door and with a loud cry catapulted himself back so violently that he tumbled off the side of the bed with a loud thump. The elf remained in the centre of the bed, his legs still spread so wide that Lindir could see his gaping red bruised looking entrance beneath his flaccid genitals. He stayed there a few moments, visibly shaking, his eyes wide, and then, when he realised that Sauron was not about to attack him for moving, closed his legs and lowering his gaze, crawled backwards slightly on the bed. There was the clinking of a chain and Lindir saw that his right leg was bound at the ankle to two locations: the foot of the bed and the wall. The ankle beneath the iron cuff looked rubbed raw.

"My lord!" The orc stood up unsteadily and grabbed one of the bed drapes to pull it around his sweating, pot-bellied, muscled body as he peered around one of the bedposts at them. "Who is this?"

Sauron looked back at Lindir, who shrunk back. There was a short silence and then he said, rather coldly, "There is a washroom through yonder door. Go there and bathe quickly."

"Aye, Master." Chastised, Lindir scuttled into the bedroom and past the bed to go to the most likely looking of the two doors. Unfortunately it led to what looked like a storage room full of various bits of Eregion paraphernalia so he hurried onto the next room. Behind him, he heard the bed creak as the elf moved again, but he did not look back to see what the elf was doing. He left the door ajar behind him.

"______ tells me that you are in charge of the prisoners. Where are the keys to their fetters?" Sauron's voice was soft, but ugly in the Black Speech. Lindir glanced at the gap in the open door and then turned to the bath. He noticed that it had been recently drawn and the water looked quite clean so after testing the temperature of the water, which was not icy, but still cold, he dropped the throw and climbed into it. Then he picked up the nearest scrubbing brush - another relic of Eregion - and set about quickly and vigorously scrubbing at all the dirt on his body. He used the mirror opposite the bath as his reference.

"Here, my lord. The keys are on my belt. H-h-here they are..." There was a scuffling noise and then a clink as the keys were handed over.

"What have you been feeding them?"

"What we eat, my lord. We feed them once a day. Bread and soup and meat and..."

"Hm. What of the one with me?"

"Who is he?"

"The one which I asked ____ to leave unharmed."

"Oh. We fed him the same as the rest. You asked us to keep him with the rest... ____ managed to find a bossy elf to look after him. I forget his name."

"Rána?"

"Ah! I think that is it. Aye, Rána is his name."

"How is Rána?"

"He is not good, not good. ____ is the only one to whom he will listen. That and a whip. I remember him because he thinks, that one. You can see him looking at you and working things out. He tried to escape twice so we use thicker chains when we get him to work in the chain gangs. I think he knows the speech too. With respect, my lord, I think the one with you knows it too."

"What about this one here?"

"He? He does not know much of it yet."

"How did you get him to sleep with you?"

"I struck a deal with him. Good food, good drink, good shelter..."

"How many remain?"

"Twenty-seven, my lord."

"Where are the other five?"

"We had to kill them. They were violent. Or uncooperative in some other way. Or they had accidents."

"They did not escape?"

"They did not escape. I can show you their bodies, if you wish. We gave two to the wargs, though, so it will be difficult..."

"Nay. ___ showed me enough on my way to the pit." There was a silence and then a loud crack and thud and then the bathroom door suddenly swung open. Lindir looked up to find Sauron looking at him. It was time to leave. He climbed out of the bath and Sauron came over to undo the locks on his bonds and collar. Then, after pocketing the keys and the cuffs and tossing aside the rest, he handed him two pieces of thick black cloth: clothes. "Clad yourself in these and come." Then he turned away and left the room. Lindir followed, pulling on the thick black breeches and shirt as he did so. They smelt of orc, but clean. Lindir had not known that there was such a thing. As he crossed the bedroom, he shoved his head through the collar of the shirt, then halted to stare at the orc lying on the floor near the end of the bed, his neck turned at a strange angle, his eyes staring vacantly. He was dead. Lindir looked at the dark wet spot pooling on the rug between the orc's legs.

Sauron touched his back then. "Come."

Lindir spared a last glance back at the elf still sitting and watching them from the middle of the bed, then turned and left the room.

Chapter 28

The ice furniture, somewhat to Glorfindel's relief, did not extend into Laiglas', Lindo's, and Linden's rooms. Even so, his reception by Lindir's eldest, in spite of Laiglas' smile, was distinctly cold.

"Glorfindel." Laiglas rose from where he sat beside the window and smiled at him. The smile did not meet his eyes and somehow, Glorfindel sensed that Laiglas did not want him to feel comfortable. He swallowed.

"Laiglas."

In the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Linden move to take a seat beside the fireplace and the silvery-grey - silvery-grey? He turned his head to check that his eyes were not lying to him. But aye, the flames _were_ silvery-grey indeed. Linden smiled at him, her brow creased in confusion. He smiled and looked back at Laiglas.

"Is something the matter?" Laiglas asked.

 _Aside from the fact that I am speaking to Sauron's children?_ Glorfindel nodded slowly and smiled. "Your fire is silver." He threaded his hands behind his back and straightened slightly, rather pleased with having found such a trivial... almost silly opening topic of conversation.

"Ah. Aye, 'tis indeed silver."

"Are all the fires silver in Eonwe's house?"

Laiglas looked at the fire, his smile still on his face. "I believe so." He looked back at him.

"Ah."

Laiglas' eyes narrowed. "Hm."

"How interesting."

"Indeed." Laiglas blinked slowly; long eyelashes falling and lifting like a majestic curtain.

In the corner, Linden suddenly shifted and exhaled softly, nervously. They glanced at her. Linden exchanged a look with Laiglas, her expression worried. Laiglas, however, only seemed pleased at whatever she had told him. He looked back at Glorfindel and cocked his head to one side. "So you know, then?"

"I know."

"Curious. Why are you here, then?" Laiglas cocked his head to the other side, still smiling in that discomforting manner. Glorfindel swallowed. Here was the real opening. Laiglas had handed him the dice and it now was his responsibility... decision... to begin the exchange. He looked between them: at Laiglas' smug expression and Linden's anxious one and decided to keep it brief and to the point. Laiglas looked uncommonly energetic and enthusiastic, as if he was looking for a game. His playfulness in answering Glorfindel's ridiculous opening about the fire was proof enough. There was no sign of that bitterness, that closed-off aloofness that Glorfindel had come to expect from him. A light shone in Laiglas' eyes that rang with cold ruthless animosity and... more brightly, was it...? Was that triumph?

"What is Lindir's relationship with Sauron?"

He had expected an indirect response. Perhaps the answer "maybe" that already lurked in his head. Perhaps an answer that would open up a lengthy discussion between them. Laiglas had, after all, only been witness to Lindir's last years in thraldom. He had seen little of Lindir's relationship with Sauron. Whole millennias sat between Laiglas and the beginning of Lindir and Sauron's relationship, even if he was their son. What did he know?

In hindsight, he had to wonder at his own stupidity, at his own swiftness at forgetting that Laiglas looked and was indeed playing a game with him. The question was not what did Laiglas know, but what did Laiglas want him to think. There was no closeness between them before so why should there be any now? Why should he expect a truthful response?

He had asked the wrong question and he would pay dearly for it.

Laiglas' smile faded. The cold hardness in his black eyes remained, however. In hindsight, Glorfindel had realised that Laiglas was still playing him at this point.

"Glorfindel," Laiglas said then to him, "Lindir and Sauron are bonded. That is all."

"So you... think they are in love?"

"Why else? Why would a Maia bond themselves to an elf if not in love with them? As for Lindir, you saw his desire for Sauron with your own eyes today and... well," he broke off, his gleaming eyes gazing intently, ruthlessly at him, "...well, you saw both of them."

~*~

In Silmo's room, Silmo suddenly rose from where he stood near the door to the bathroom. Gloredhel and Glingal, who were sitting at the table, and Lindir, who was on the bed, looked at him. Silmo smiled slightly."Forgive me. I must leave you for a short while."

Lindir nodded. Glingal followed his example and also nodded. Gloredhel did not. Silmo inclined his head, then turned and left the room through the veil.

There was a silence. Then Gloredhel looked back at them and said, "So where were we?" He smiled.

"You were telling us about your travels in that... woodland and that... lake?" Glingal offered. Lindir smirked. So like him, Glingal had also drifted during Gloredhel's story telling and forgotten the name of the wood... whatever it was. As for the lake... well, Lindir had forgotten that there even was a lake. He felt his mouth move to yawn and quickly suppressed it. Valar, but Gloredhel was a terrible story-teller. He supposed, however, that he should rejoice in that he was having to listen to a tedious story rather than tell his own. He had feared that his sons would demand an explanation of him, but after their initial questions and offer to let him remain silent until he was ready to tell them the whys and hows, they had said no more on the matter.

Gloredhel seemed to sense their disinterest as he finished the continuation of his story with a rather abrupt, "Ah, well I travelled for another few weeks and then headed northwards to have a look at Valimar. That was when I met Lindo."

"And together, you came to Ingwe's halls," Glingal finished.

"Ah, indeed." Gloredhel glanced sidelong at him, his eyes slightly narrowed. But his expression soon relaxed. He looked at Lindir. "I was a little disappointed to be whisked so soon away from Ingwe's halls. I was rather looking forward to meeting Glingal's new sweetheart and, more curiously to me, Glorfindel's more direct relatives. Glingal tells me that they are quite fearsome towards Glorfindel and us."

"Ah." Lindir felt his smile fade slightly. "They are... a little fierce."

"Why do they dislike Glorfindel so much?"

"Well..." Lindir hesitated. "I believe they do not dislike him so much as... disapprove of what he has done and his apparent unrepentence, in their eyes."

"What has he done? Besides saving many hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives... nay, he saved the hobbit with the One Ring, so perhaps he saved all of Middle-earth..."

Lindir snorted. Beside Gloredhel, Glingal laughed. "Brother," he said, "I think the House of Ingwe is thinking more of Glorfindel's part in the kinslaying at Alqualonde. Also, that he rejoices in the sword when the House of Ingwe is a place of compassion and peace."

"From what I heard of the Queen, she has no compassion for Glorfindel." Gloredhel said. "Lindir, what do you think?"

Lindir shook his head. "I think Glorfindel has hurt the House of Ingwe almost as much as they have hurt him. I also think that we, especially I, are responsible for the current coldness towards Glorfindel and us in the house."

"They do not approve of you, then?" Gloredhel asked.

Lindir inclined his head.

There was a long silence.

Gloredhel broke the silence again. "But even so," he said. "To reject the son because he does not love a female..."

"I do not think Lindir is talking so much about his not being female," Glingal interceded. "Although I think his nature as a male who may bear children in similar fashion to a female is part of the issue."

"Oh. Lindir?"

Lindir smiled tightly.

There was another long silence.

Glingal was the next to speak this time. "Lindir," he said, "is your family in Valinor?"

Lindir blinked. Then his smile slackened and grew faint. "I do not know. I have not spoken to them since I was in Eregion. They may still yet be in Lindon."

"They lived at the Havens?"

Lindir nodded. "Aye. My father and mother and older sister."

Gloredhel leaned forward slightly in his seat. "What happened to them?"

"I do not know. As I said, I lost contact with them when in Eregion."

"Why did you lose contact with them?"

"I just... did." Lindir's smile faded completely as he heard his words ring out into the cold air. It was true. He had indeed not written to them since the day he left for Eregion. Not for celebratory days, not for their begetting days.

But then again. He exhaled and pursed his lips and looked down at the hem of his robe again. They had never written to him. "Perhaps," he said, "they are in Alqualonde."

"I have checked their names of the elves in Alqualonde when I visited King Olwe's halls," Gloredhel said then. "They are not there."

"Perhaps Tirion, then."

"I have checked the records in Tirion as well."

"Then the woodlands..." Lindir looked up and smiled faintly at them. "Perhaps they are still on Middle-earth or in Mandos."

"You do not seem enthusiastic to see them again."

"I am not."

"Why? Did something happen between you and them?"

Lindir shook his head, still smiling. "Nay, but people change over time and... I..." He shrugged.

There was another long silence and when it was broken, the topic was changed.

~*~

"So..." Glorfindel winced. He felt as if Laiglas had just kicked him. Oh, how he loathed the elf... or half-maia or whatever he was. "So you believe Sauron loves Lindir and vice versa? But if so, why did Lindir flee Dol Guldur?"

"He left because Olorin persuaded him to do so. He left because Olorin coaxed him to fear for the safety of Laiglas and Lindo... and Linden." Laiglas nodded slightly in the direction of the fireplace and Linden beside it. She swallowed and inclined her head in silent agreement when Glorfindel followed his gaze and met her eyes.

Glorfindel looked back at Laiglas. "But why would you be in danger?" He gestured at them. "You are Sauron's children. Surely you would have been in no danger at all if Sauron loved... loves..." the word made him recoil, "...Lindir."

"Sauron loves Lindir and yet he conducted experiments on him. Why then could he not conduct experiments on us as well? We are his only children, but Sauron does not draw lines between what can and cannot be a subject for an experiment. Lindir was afraid for us. That was why he accepted Olorin's offer to help us escape."

Glorfindel swallowed. In his mind, he searched for some hole, some fraying part in Laiglas's argument, in the words that the half-elf was telling him with such a straight face. But all that came to him was another, still unspoken, and far more distressing question. If Lindir loved Sauron and still did so, where then did he fit? Was he like Indis to Finwe or was this another strange sort of relationship entirely?

Perhaps it was truly that simple. That he was indeed Lindir's second love and Lindir was capable of what Glorfindel did not believe was possible in his own heart. To be able to love and bond himself to two elves. He could not do it. It went against every scruple in his mind.

Laiglas' spread his hands. "Would Lindir lie to you if he loved you, Glorfindel? Did you not take Lindir and us into your house because of Gloredhel and not out of love for us? You did not love Lindir and he did not you when you seduced him into your bed, if seduction that may be called, for you never stopped to question Lindir's intentions in that heated moment. Think! But whereas you fell in love with him, he never did so for you. He is already in love. He is already bonded."

So it was not as for Indis with Finwe then? There was no second love? "Then why me?" Why me? His mind screamed the words at him. The answer that his mind spoke, however, he refused to hear. He did not wish to hear it. It would break his heart, surely, if it were true!

But Laiglas made him hear it. "You were convenient. He knew you would make him pregnant and that you would have to take him in. That was the only reason why he ever slept with you."

~*~

Usually, when someone came into the cavern in which the pit lay, Lindir was alerted to their arrival by a noise. Perhaps it would be by way of a greeting from the guards. Perhaps the clinking of chains. Perhaps the soft crunch and scuffing of hard soled orc shoes on the rock. Perhaps even, when it was an especially agile elf, it was the creak of the ladder as he descended it to come to feed and rest.

When Sauron arrived, there was no such warning. Not even the ladders bent under his weight. Lindir stirred to find the tall black figure standing at the bottom of the ladder on the floor of the pit. Observing him. He sat up and, not at first sure if indeed it was Sauron or perhaps some other similar being in black armour, for he could sense none of that menace that he sometimes felt from the Maia, and whispered, "Master?"

Sauron said nothing. He simply gestured for him to rise and follow him from the pit. Lindir did so, shivering when Sauron suddenly reached out and encouraged him towards the ladder with a hand to his back. Years had passed indeed, it had indeed seemed like an eternity, but that touch! That touch sent the sweetest sparks down his back and he shivered not with fear, but with gladness, and he watched Sauron swiftly climb the ladder before him with eyes glazed almost in wondering disbelief. He felt dizzy and when he finally gripped the rungs of the ladder and began to heave himself up, his limbs shook.

He was leaving the pit. He really was! He really was! And then, when he happened to glance down as he neared the top and saw the plunging shadows that masked the deep black floor, his limbs shook even harder as they should not for any elf and all of a sudden he felt scared... more than scared: terrified!

He stumbled, trembling, from the ladder. He thought he might have fallen, but Sauron was waiting for him.

Lindir expected to be given the right to walk to wherever lay their destination, so Sauron surprised him by suddenly reaching around him and lifting him in his arms. It was not comfortable and Lindir wondered why he would do such a thing for a few moments until he suddenly noticed how quickly Sauron was striding from the deserted cavern - when had the guards left? - and into the labyrinthal passageways that lay beyond. Ah! So they were in a hurry. He leaned his head against the other breast plate and tried to ignore the jolting of his head against the cold metal. He did not recall how raw his cheekbones felt against the hard surface. He must have lost more weight than he had imagined. He looked up at the helmeted face.

"Where are we going?" he dared to ask then.

"To Barad-dur... when I am finished here," Sauron replied, not looking down at him.

"What about the other elves?"

"Perhaps some of them will follow later." They walked for a time and then Sauron suddenly asked, "Why? Do you have close friends among them?"

"Aye. There is one elf: Rana."

"Do you enjoy his company?"

"Aye." Lindir was a little confused by the question. Rana was his friend. Of course he would... "He has looked after me."

Sauron said nothing more and they continued on down the passageways in silence, ducking in and out of mostly small and sometimes large corridors. On the occasion, they would meet an orc, who would recoil backwards against the walls of the passageway as if he had been faced with a menacing presence that Lindir could not perceive and which made him frown.

Abruptly they came to an alcove archway in one of the smaller passageways. Inside it lay a thick wooden door. Sauron lowered Lindir and opened the door to usher him in first before following himself, ducking slightly under the low door.

Inside lay a deserted, but brightly lit and rather comfortable and luxurious looking room. It had been cut from the rock, though one had to look hard to see the rock of the mountains beneath the luxuries that drenched it and the rich golden-red glow of the crackling fire at the low mantlepiece at one side. Lindir, after gazing around a moment with a frown at the lavish seats and fur throws and rugs and deep and richly carven chests and tables, realised all of a sudden that he recognised some of the pieces. They were from Eregion. They were all from Eregion. Mouth slightly agape, he turned to look at Sauron.

But Sauron was not looking at him. The Maia was closing the door. Lindir watched him slide three of the largest seven bolts home. Then Sauron turned back to look at him and gestured silently for him to take a seat. Lindir did so and when he happened to glance across the room from the seat that he had chosen and found himself staring at a rather wretched scabby brown and huddled shape amongst the velvet blue cushions on the wide seat, it took him a few moments to realise that it was his reflection. Oh, but he looked dreadful! He looked about and reached out and grabbed the white fur throw that hung over the back of the seat and pulled it about his shoulders to hide his naked grimy body. Then he looked back to Sauron, but only the closing wave of two heavy curtains that hung over a portion of the wall answered his questioning gaze.

There was a soft creak and then, very abruptly, a soft and rather curious squeaking and grunting noise broke through Lindir's presumption that the room... correction, rooms, were deserted. He waited a few moments. Then, overcome with curiosity, rose and hobbled, carrying the throw with him, through the curtains and into another room richly furnished with Eregion furniture to go over to an open door that looked like the likely creaking culprit and from which emitted the telling noises. He peeped around the door jamb and his brow creased when, looking past Sauron who was standing just within the door, he saw two very naked - one black, one white - figures engaging in a certain practice on a certain 1453 drape bed that Lindir distinctly remembered having seen in one of the guest rooms in Celebrimbor's house. His frown deepened when, on looking closer at the white-skinned fellow, he recognised him as the young elf who had lain before him when they had first arrived in the pit. That elf who had disappeared with Halmir and those few elves that first time that they had left the pit and left Lindir there all alone. Surely it was him! A little thinner, perhaps, but it was him.

His suspicions were confirmed when a few moments later the orc spied Sauron at the door and catapulted himself back so violently that he tumbled off the side of the bed. The elf remained in the centre of the bed, his legs still spread so wide that Lindir could see his gaping red bruised looking entrance beneath his flaccid genitals. He stayed there a few moments, visibly shaking, his eyes wide, and then, when he realised that Sauron was not about to attack him for moving, closed his legs and lowering his gaze, crawled backwards slightly on the bed. There was the clinking of a chain and Lindir saw that his right leg was bound at the ankle to two location. The bed and the wall. The ankle beneath the iron cuff looked rubbed raw.

"My lord!" The orc stood up unsteadily and grabbed one of the bed drapes to pull it around himself as he peered around one of the bed posts at them. "Who is this?"

Sauron looked back at Lindir, who shrunk back. There was a short silence and then he said, rather coldly, "There is a washroom through this bedroom. Go there and bathe quickly."

"Aye, Master." Chastised, Lindir scuttled into the bedroom and past the bed to go to the most likely looking of the two doors. Unfortunately it led to what looked like a storage room full of various bits of Eregion paraphenalia so he hurried onto the next room. Behind him, he heard the bed creak as the elf moved again, but he did not look back to see what the elf was doing now. He left the door ajar behind him.

“Your wardens tell me that you are in charge of the prisoners. Where are the keys to their fetters?" Sauron's voice was soft, but ugly in the Black Speech. Lindir glanced at the gap in the door and then turned to the bath. He noticed that it had been recently drawn and the water looked quite clean so after testing the temperature of the water, which was not icy, but still cold, he dropped the throw and climbed into it and picked up the nearest scrubbing brush - another relic of Eregion - and set about quickly and vigorously scrubbing at all the dirt on his body. He used the mirror opposite the bath as his reference.

"Here, my lord. On my belt. H-h-here they are..." There was a scuffling noise and then a clink as the keys were handed over.

"What have you been feeding them?"

"What we eat, my lord. We feed them once a day. Bread and soup and meat and..."

"Hm. What of the one with me?"

"Who is he?"

"The one of which I asked you to leave unharmed."

"Oh. We fed him the same as the rest. You asked us to keep him with the rest... We managed to find an elf to look after him. I forget his name."

"Rana?"

"Ah! I think that is it. Aye, Rana is his name."

"How is Rana?"

"He is not good, not good. I remember him because he thinks, that one. You can see him looking at you and working things out. He tried to escape twice so we use thicker chains when we get him to work in the chain gangs. I think he knows the speech too. With respect, my lord, I think the one with you knows it too."

"What about this one here?"

"He? He does not know much of it yet."

"Hm. How many remain?"

"Twenty-seven, my lord."

"Where are the other five?"

"We had to kill them. They were violent. Or uncooperative in some other way. Or they had accidents."

"They did not escape?"

"They did not escape. I can show you their bodies, if you wish. We gave two to the wargs, though, so it will be difficult..."

"Nay. Your wardens showed me enough on my way to the pit." There was a silence and then a loud crack and then the bathroom door suddenly swung open. Lindir looked up to find Sauron looking at him. It was time to leave. He climbed out of the bath and Sauron came over to undo the locks that kept him captive. Then, after pocketing the keys, he handed him two pieces of thick black cloth. "Clad yourself in this and come." Then he turned away and left the room. Lindir followed, pulling on the thick black breeches and shirt as he did so. They smelt of orc, but clean orc. Lindir had not known that there was such a thing. As he shoved his head through the collar of the shirt, he frowned on seeing the orc lying on the floor near the door, his neck at a strange angle, his eyes staring vacantly. He was dead, Lindir realised, on seeing the dark wet spot pooling on the rug between his legs.

Sauron touched his back then. "Come."

Lindir spared a last glance back at the elf still sitting and watching them from the middle of the bed, then turned and went before Sauron and out of the room.

Chapter 29

"Glorfindel! Glorfindel, please wait!" The voice was accompanied by a pattering of feet on a different stairwell and Glorfindel, who was making his way back down the entrance hall of Eönwë's house, turned to find that it was Silmo who was chasing after him.

"What is it?" He felt cold and tired. His visit here had been fruitless, nay, more than fruitless... it had been folly to come here. Laiglas had no wish to discuss anything with him. Laiglas only had one line, a line that Glorfindel did not want to hear, and his determination to press it... even if it _was_ true, made it impossible to speak to him. He had nothing more to say to Laiglas and if Linden was unwilling to speak against Laiglas, then there was no use staying here any longer. As for Lindo, well, Lindo had not been there with Laiglas and Linden. Glorfindel had not ventured to inquire after his whereabouts. He had not been in a frame of mind to think of asking such a question.

"Where are you going?" Silmo asked as he drew near. "You did not stay to speak with Laiglas long."

"Nay, I spoke too long with him. I am leaving this house. Why do you ask?"

"Eönwë was concerned for you; so he summoned me to request that you calm yourself before returning to Lindir."

Lindir? He, stay with Lindir tonight? "Silmo, I... do not think I am prepared to stay with Lindir tonight. I think I will return to Ingwë's halls and return either tomorrow when the court is not in session or perhaps at a later date."

At his words, Silmo's face paled. "You do not mean to return to Tirion without him, do you?"

"Eh?" Glorfindel's brow creased. "Of course not. But Laiglas spoke a version of the truth in there that I cannot refute and which at this point in time, I know Lindir will not refute or accede or even explain to me as he seems to burst into tears at the barest of mentions of his folly with Sauron. If I stay with Lindir now, I will only grow more agitated in his melancholic silence and he will perceive my agitation and only grow more upset."

"If you do not go to him, then he may perceive your absence as rejection and become more upset anyway."

"Then tell him what I have told you."

There was a silence. Then Silmo sighed and said, "When do you wish to next see him? Tomorrow, perhaps? I can arrange a breakfast or lunch with him, if you wish."

"Lunch, please. Short enough to reign in my impatience and long enough for us to exhaust a shallow conversation."

"Then perhaps you would rather stay away until he requests your presence and agrees to tell you all?"

Glorfindel put his hands on his hips and sighed. Then he raised a hand and ran it through his hair. "Silmo, what happened between Sauron and Lindir? Are they truly in love or is there a different, more truthful version of Laiglas's words? Where do I fit into this puzzle? Surely, you know the truth."

"I only know what the court knows and all that Lindir remembers and even now, he remembers only fragments of what happened. I am working with him to change this and as I help and observe him peel back the layers of time over that sealed part of his mind, my version of the truth changes with it."

"You know more than I ever will... even my children seem to know more than I, which I must say does not make me happy. Please tell me what you know."

"You will not like the truth, Glorfindel. If I tell it to you, you will not see Lindir tomorrow at lunch. You will make some excuse because though you will desire to confront him, you love him so much that you would not see him any unhappier than he is at present and certainly not at the mercy of your temper."

"Silmo, please. You may be my elder, but I am no youngster of the Firstborn. I will also find out the truth, whether now or later."

"Now and later are very different, Glorfindel. The truth will be more complete later. Lindir may be in a happier frame of mind and wish to tell you the truth himself then."

"Or he may refrain from doing so as he has done for the thousands of years since we met each other in Imladris. Silmo, I am tired. I have been ill today. To recall Sauron and Lindir lying together on that bed causes my stomach to lurch. I am not prepared to wait with only half-truths to feed me when everyone around me seems to know more than I. I will not wait." He spread his hands. "Tell me all you know."

"Do not deceive yourself, Glorfindel. You know as much as most of them; you know more than most of them. But you are blinded by that capricious emotion that is called love and the insecurity that comes with it when the illusion begins to fray."

Glorfindel felt his chin tremble as he heard the last words. "So... he does love Sauron and they _are_ bonded?"

Silmo swallowed. "When one does not wish to see the truth, they either deny it and call it false or pretend to not see it at all. You may deny their bond, Glorfindel, but at the moment there is precious little that will support such a conviction. That Lindir was deluded when he claimed to love Sauron is indeed possible, but only if he was born deluded and is still deluded now. On the other hand, that Sauron does not love Lindir is impossible for their bond is complete and their spirits are bound just as yours is bound with Lindir's."

"Impossible..." The whispered words trembled in the chill air. Tears sprang to Glorfindel's eyes.

"'Tis not impossible. Perhaps, if the thought to return to Tirion without Lindir does begin to weigh heavily upon your mind, consider remaining for the purpose of observing this unfolding of Sauron's character. This is why many of the Ainur of Valinor are viewing this trial. Feel honoured that you may witness it as well."

Glorfindel snorted. _Honoured._ He looked at Silmo. "I will come tomorrow. Let us eat on the summit, though, for I find those rooms too cramped and the air in there miserable."

"As you wish. I was already intending on bringing Lindir here tomorrow for the same reasons. Please, however, do not make it public that he is to be on the summit tomorrow as I do not wish for others to pay him too much attention."

"I understand."

Glorfindel turned now and continued to walk towards the front doors of Eönwë's house. Silmo walked beside him. As they left the building and came to a forked path that indicated their parting of ways, they stopped and Silmo ventured, "I will tell Lindir, then, that you are returning to Ingwë's halls for the night."

"Thank you. Please advise Gloredhel and Glingal to stay with Lindir for me."

Silmo just inclined his head. Then he bid him farewell and walked away. Glorfindel looked after him for a while until Silmo's frame had disappeared around the corner of another building. Then he turned away to head back to the courtyard in which he had been housed that morning before the trial. He would wait there for Ingwë and accompany the King back to the halls at dusk.

~*~

"Eh? Glorfindel is heading back to Ingwë's halls tonight? Why?" Gloredhel looked and sounded indignant. On the bed, Lindir looked between Silmo, Gloredhel's angry expression, and Glingal's closed one. "What did Laiglas tell him, Lindir?"

Lindir, who was wondering the same, blinked when he found all three pairs of eyes now swivelling to look at him. He swallowed and forced a smile at them. "I do not know what Laiglas told him, but perhaps," he said, addressing Gloredhel and Glingal, "you should consider heading back to Ingwë's halls as well for there is no where for you to sleep here, though one of you may rest with me."

Glingal's expression did not change. Gloredhel only looked more confused. "You do not wish for even us to stay with you?"

Even us? Lindir exhaled. "Gloredhel, I am tired. Come and see me tomorrow when I am rested. Today has been distressing for me and I need time for myself to gather my thoughts." Truth be told, he did not wish for them to leave and to be returned to that melancholic silence, but neither did he feel that he should attempt to distract himself from thinking carefully through his next move with Glorfindel. He doubted, even if alone, that he would deal with his problems, but even so he knew he should not encourage distraction.

They seemed to understand and rose and excused themselves. The veil fell closed on their forms and once again, Lindir was alone with Silmo. Lindir looked at the Maia. "Why did Glorfindel decide to return to Ingwë's halls? He said that he would return to me."

"I know he said so, but he changed his mind. Perhaps he argued with Laiglas. Perhaps Laiglas suggested you deliberately became pregnant with Gloredhel that first time you slept together."

Lindir stared at him. Then he smiled incredulously and shook his head. "Nay, you jest, surely. Laiglas would not say such a thing. He would not think, much less say such a thing. He knows that however wayward my heart, I will not... I cannot turn from Glorfindel. He also saw only horror at the hands of Sauron in Dol Guldur. He would not suggest even the slightest word that might separate Glorfindel from me. He cares too much for me."

Silmo just smiled slightly and turned to go over to the table and begin clearing away the plates from which Glingal had been eating. "You did not sleep with Glorfindel to become pregnant, though, did you?"

"I do not know what I was doing, Silmo."

"Hm." Silmo said no more and Lindir, after watching him for a while, lay down on the bed and crawled between the sheets to have a nap.

When he awoke, it was already dark. He looked about for Silmo, and saw the Maia sitting at the table, leaning back against the chair back, his eyes fixed on the view of the starry sky out of the window. When Lindir sat up, he turned his head to look at him and smiled. His face and hair glowed silvery and pale in the moonlight. "It is near midnight."

Lindir nodded and smiled, and then slipped from the edge of the bed to move to join him and stand beside the window. He folded his arms and leaned them on the sill and then, as he leaned forward and felt the soft cool breeze whirl up from the hills far below to brush his skin, he closed his eyes and sighed. His shoulders slumped. Then, after a moment, he reopened his eyes and, face slack, turned his head to look at Silmo. "What should I do Silmo?"

Silmo read his expression and thoughts and his smile faded. "Advice is a dangerous gift, Lindir."

"And all paths may and... as I believe will be the case for me, will run ill, so what harm is there in it now?" Lindir responded. "Glorfindel will, as you said, discover the truth one day soon and I know that he will not react well to it. Indeed, I cannot see how our relationship may proceed from thence."

"You do not think he is strong enough to accept you in spite of your previous relationship?"

"Silmo, it is Glorfindel of whom we speak here. He is a warrior. He is no scholar or minstrel such as I who may spurt pithy about the sanctity of life and the ills of judging others' worthiness to live. Glorfindel is one who _does_ judge and he deals his judgement in no small quantities. He loathes Sauron with all his body and his spirit and indeed, who may blame him? Glorfindel has lost hundreds of beloved friends to Sauron and his master, Morgoth, and seen countless cruelties done at their command."

"Glorfindel need not accept Sauron. He has to accept you. You and Sauron are different entities, Lindir, and..."

"Oh, but he does! He does! He has to accept that his lover is either crippled in mind or his lover is... or that Sauron is worthy of love and that somehow, he, Glorfindel, is narrow minded for not seeing why."

"Or he could leave it as a mystery, as so often are left explanations of matters of the heart."

Lindir exhaled heavily and shook his head. "Even so, I do not see how Glorfindel may accept me. After so long, after so many lies from me to him. He loves me, but this revelation will break his heart indeed. I am sure of it." He looked back out of the window and sighed again.

Silmo said nothing.

"I should have stayed in Dol Guldur," Lindir said then. "When it occurs to him that I never once offered assistance to Imladris' council with regards to what I knew of the customs of the residents of Dol Guldur and Mordor..." He swallowed painfully and felt tears brim to his eyes. "We should never have met."

"You do not mean that, Lindir."

"I do indeed. My lot was not so terrible in Dol Guldur. Sauron does love me, in his own strange way. I am confident I would have lived to see Galadriel cast down the walls of the fortress with her powers."

"And Gloredhel and Glingal? Do you regret having given birth to them? Do you regret your life in Imladris?"

"I think the damage I have wrought through venturing to Imladris in the first place far outweigh any of those joys. Had I been given a second chance then, and had I known then what I know now and been virtuous enough to hold to my principles instead of cowering in fear, then I would have stayed."

Silmo exhaled softly. There was a long silence. Then the Maia said, "You will find no solutions in speculation, Lindir. What is done is done. You have to look towards the future."

"I know."

"How do you desire this saga to close?"

"I wish I were back with Glorfindel and that everything were honest between us and that he accepted me and loved me as strongly as he has ever done."

"And Sauron?"

Lindir's face twisted and a few tears shook on the brim of his eyes before plunging down his cheeks. He choked and raised a hand to his mouth. "I wish I were back... I wish I were back with him too."

Silmo sighed again, slower and heavier this time. "What if Sauron does not love you, Lindir?"

Lindir shook his head. "He does love me, Silmo. In his own way, he loves me indeed."

Silmo said nothing more for a time. It was only when Lindir sighed again and wiped at his cheeks, and then turned to walk back to bed that the Maia stirred and said, "Would you like to come with me to the summit?"

"What? Now?" When Silmo inclined his head, Lindir stared at him in silence for a few moments. Then a smile slid across his lips and he nodded. "I would appreciate that indeed."

"Then come." And Silmo rose and went over to the wardrobe to open it and take out a thick fur-lined cloak and matching boots. He helped Lindir don them and then beckoned for him to follow him from the room by way of the veil. Lindir followed.

~*~

Glorfindel had anticipated spending the night alone with Ecthelion who he was sure would be waiting for him with a few bottles. Certainly he had not expected Gloredhel and Glingal to return with him, and most certainly, he had not expected Ingwë to invite them, on the King's eventual arrival to collect them from the summit at sunset, to sup with the royal family.

On hearing Ingwë's invitation and seeing the frank hopefulness in the King's smile, he immediately knew the reason why they were inviting them to such an occasion now. He even wondered, bitterly, as he heard Glingal's cheerful and Gloredhel's pleased acceptance, if the House of Ingwë was viewing this supper as a kind of celebration. A celebration in anticipation of his severing all ties with Lindir.

It was all too soon and Glorfindel resented it. Indeed, he did not wish to believe his own doubting thoughts that the supper invitation was anything but an innocent attempt to accept him back into the embrace of the family. But as soon as he arrived back in the palace and found his mother waiting for him in his rooms with a broad smile and gushing words of sympathy, he realised that it was so.

The Queen's reward of his mother's close proximity affected him more deeply than he had expected and Glorfindel found himself swayed towards accepting the supper invitation, in spite of his rational knowledge that he should spend the night with Ecthelion for his own clarity of mind.

In the end, he wrote a message to Ecthelion and then accompanied his mother to the royal table. Glingal and Gloredhel were already there and looking extremely comfortable. As for the Queen, she even deemed to shine a small, cold smile on him. Glorfindel knew then, as he bowed to her and moved to take the seat beside her, that he should not have come. He should not have come at all.

The family was indeed celebrating the absence of Lindir.

~*~

"I did not expect it to be so desolate," Lindir said when they arrived at the summit and Silmo invited him to comment on it. He looked around, across the vast blanket of fresh untouched white, white snow under the moonlight. It looked unreal. He exhaled and watched his breath turn to mist in the cold still air. "I had expected gardens... and flowers. I had expected beauty beyond comparison. Not this... emptiness."

"This is the pinnacle of Arda," Silmo said then. "This is not the gardens of Yavanna or the woods of Irmo."

"I know, but even so... It seems a strange abode for the Lord Manwë and Lady Varda to take as their own."

"Is it? When Varda's eyes, from these heights, may pierce to the very farthest ends of Arda and the deepest of depths? Is it when Manwë's ears may hear the softest of whispers and prayers from those same ends of Arda?"

"Aye. It could still be more beautiful."

"Some delight in the cold deserts, Lindir. For some of the Ainur, such spaces remind them of the borderless space beyond the confines of Arda - of whence we came as members of the choir. Of whence we all come. Even you."

"I still do not like it."

Silmo snorted softly. "The elves were born to love Arda so I find your reaction to this place, the most hallowed site in your people's many songs, most odd. But perhaps it has something to do with your own experiences in Sauron's dungeons, which mimic this place and Mandos in their illusion of endlessness by way of the utter silence and blackness."

"Perhaps, but now I am here in person, I see that this is not Arda. This does not feel like Arda." Lindir looked pointedly at where the distant rooftops of the buildings that sat white and frozen as if carven from the ice of glaciers above the blanket interwove with the very stuff of the sky and shivered. "This is the end of the world."

"Or the beginning."

"Aye, and it frightens me." Lindir looked at Silmo. "Is there a garden here? If not, I wish to see the courtroom and then return to my... your rooms."

Silmo inclined his head. "There are a few gardens. Most of them are located too close to the building that houses members of the audience, however, but there is a small one a little removed. Come, I will take you there." He waved for Lindir to follow him and Lindir did so.

The garden was not in fact on the summit, but a little further down. It was reached by way of a narrow stairwell that ran down from the edge of one cliff edge of the summit. As they descended the steps nestled in close embrace to the wall of rock, Lindir clung warily to the rock and avoided looking over the edge as much as possible. He wondered vaguely what would happen if he did fall from the edge. Would he die or was there some power about this mountain that made injuries from falling impossible... or indeed made falling at all impossible? Certainly, Silmo seemed to have no qualms with walking right on the very edge, though Lindir supposed falling was different for a Maia. After all, Silmo could lose his body at will and move up and down at will, body or no.

After a while, the steps broadened and then they turned a corner and there, inside a gaping cavern in the living rock of the cliff-face, lay the garden. Under the moonlight, everything looked pale and silvery, but Lindir did not care. He could smell the fresh scents of the blossoms, some of which he recognised, others whose scents he had never before smelt. He alighted onto the lawn from the last stone step and, ducking underneath the welcoming blossoming fronds of a vine that hung low from the roof there, entered the garden.

It was beautiful, glorious, delightful. Full of wonder, he spent his early moments there simply basking in the long missed cheer of the plants. Then, as he sought to identify those plants that he did not recognise and admire each of them in turn, he slowly made his way further and further into the cavern. Then, there, on finding a little bench carven from the innermost wall of the cave, he sat down, a broad blissful smile on his face.

When someone sat down beside him a few moments later, he thought it was Silmo so he said, "This garden is glorious."

"Indeed," the other replied and on hearing the voice, Lindir started and turned to look at the other, his eyes wide. Then he smiled, relief beyond anything he could imagine washing through him.

"Elrond," he said. "What do you do here?"

"I apologise for startling you. I come here some nights," Elrond replied, smiling at him. "I am a witness for the court and so I live a little further down the mountain, but there is a path near to my abode that leads to here. What of you? I assume this is your first time here? It is the first time I have seen you."

"Aye. This is my first visit to the summit," Lindir said. He pointed at the stairwell that led back up to the summit. "I wished to see a garden so my carer, Silmo, brought me here."

"I see. I did not realise there was a stairwell from the summit to here," Elrond said. "Indeed, I would not be surprised if after you left, that stairwell disappeared. Such strange things seem to be commonplace on Mount Taniquetil."

Lindir chuckled. "Aye." But his mirth swiftly faded as his thoughts, stirred by Elrond's presence, returned to Glorfindel.

Elrond seemed to sense this change in him. "Is something troubling you?"

"Aye. And I would share my troubles with you, but I fear I do not know how to start." Lindir exhaled and looked at him. "How much do you know of what has passed before the court?"

Elrond's face gravened. "I know more than most," he said. "I have friends among the Maiar who have attended each session. As for what happened yesterday, I know that Glorfindel was there and that he was ill on seeing what you recalled for the court."

Lindir swallowed. A lump seemed to have entered his throat. He swallowed again, but it did not leave.

"May I presume that you were unaware that he was in the audience at the time of your recollection?"

Lindir nodded. "...Aye, I did not know he was there. Not until afterwards..." He trailed off and sniffed for his nose suddenly felt wet.

Elrond said nothing. Lindir sensed that the half-elf would be quite content to not comment on his situation. But he also sensed that the half-elf was not at all about to rise, walk away, and leave him. He felt that Elrond was, though perhaps not supportive of him, at least willing to hear him out and not to judge him... yet.

"Elrond," he said then. His voice sounded shrunken and soft to his ears, "what am I to do?"

"I hardly think this a situation in which you may accept the advice of others," Elrond replied. "Indeed, perhaps you could view now as a time when it is too late to receive or heed the advice of others."

Lindir felt his face crumple slightly on hearing that and he viciously willed away his tears and the trembling of his chin.

"I am afraid that your fate is already, for the most part, out of your hands, Lindir," Elrond continued. "You have no alternative save to tell the truth now and let others perceive you as they will. And that includes Glorfindel."

"And he will reject me," Lindir added, his voice hollow.

"Nay, Lindir. That he will reject you is not certain," Elrond said. "You do not know Glorfindel's mind."

"But it is probable, is it not?"

"And if he decides indeed to choose the more unlikely path? What will anticipating his rejection do should..."

Why, it-it will be a ple-pleasant surprise!" Lindir interrupted, crying now. He spread his hands, choking now. "Elrond, it would be the most beautiful gift that I could ever receive if Glorfindel returned to me. But it will not happen. I know it will not happen now. It cannot come true. It just cannot! It would be madness if it came true!"

"But it could come true," Elrond said. "It could indeed, Lindir."

There was silence for a time. Then, finally, Lindir shook his head. "Nay. I would rather be surprised than crushed with disappointment, Elrond. And I know he will not come back."

Chapter 30

They sat in silence for a long while after Lindir's outburst. Side by side on the bench, his anger and grief slowly quelling, Lindir looked up at the glittering stars visible through the quivering canopy of leaves in the garden. Then he exhaled and felt his shoulders slump. Then he looked back at Elrond. "Elrond."

"Aye?" Elrond turned his head and looked at him

"There is one path that I have been considering... not seriously, but not half-heartedly either."

Elrond's brow knitted. "And what is this path?"

"I still have the choice of refusing Sauron's wish that I participate in his trial."

"Will that serve you well?"

Lindir felt his smile become a little forced. He wondered how to proceed. He thought for a few moments before making his response. He had always wondered how much Elrond, with his Maian senses, knew or at least suspected about the creature within him and if Elrond knew what Lindir had never told him. "Aye and nay. It is my only means to escape the ordeal of the trial. But then again, I know that my parasite will wish to mate with another creature before long and if Sauron refuses to supply a partnering creature, I do not know what I will do - it is likely that I will die."

"Mating?"

Lindir swallowed.

Elrond pressed him gently. "Is this a six or twelve year event, perhaps?"

Lindir swallowed again. So Elrond had not known at all. "Nay. It comes every few months," he admitted. "If it does not mate by that time, it will try to escape my body. It tried to do so only a few days ago and think I could have died and bled to death from the damage that it would have wreaked on my organs had it succeeded in pulling free of me."

Elrond's brow creased. "But Lindir, if this event comes every few months, what did you do in Imladris? Or was the creature inside your body in Imladris different to this one and less demanding on your body?"

"Nay, the creature that infected me then had the same demands as this one."

"Then... how? Did you smuggle in another, unattached creature for the purpose of mating them, perhaps?"

Lindir shook his head. "Nay, Elrond. The solution that I found... and indeed which Laiglas found also as his own parasite was mature at the time, was to mate our parasites together." He swallowed yet again and spread his hands. "This is why I never told you. It required an intimacy between Laiglas and I that was no longer that that should lie between a parent and child. Believe me, I have not even told Glorfindel about this side of my relationship with Laiglas."

"I... see."

There was silence for a time. Then Elrond stirred and said, "So then, unless you are able to mate the creature within you every few months with another creature, you are not free to refuse to participate in the trial."

"Aye... and yet, perhaps I could be - if you removed the creature..." Lindir faltered when he saw Elrond's brow rise slightly, then swallowed and plunged onwards, "...well, if I died then I could travel in the form of one of the Houseless to Mandos and be resurrected with the body that I should have as a male."

"Your assumption that I or the Valar would assist you - and smoothly - in such a quest aside, what of your children? Their bodies are also changed. They may not have active creatures within them as a result of the operations I performed on them, but they are still not whole members of their rightful sex."

"Well..." Lindir swallowed. "Well... therein lies the difficulty."

There was a long silence. Then Elrond exhaled and said, "Lindir, I believe that with regards to what you revealed to the court yesterday, you have already exposed your greatest secret and that is your love for Sauron and his reciprocal feelings for you. Or at least, I can think of no greater revelation than perhaps the suggestion that you perhaps assisted him willingly in his work." And now, Elrond looked at Lindir gravely, his grey eyes nearly black in the shadowy light. Lindir swallowed and looked away; back to the steps that led back to the summit of Taniquetil. "In my eyes, you will gain very little - perhaps nothing - from backing away from the trial at this late time. Indeed, your path will be unduly hard."

 _Compared to what alternative?_ But Lindir exhaled and nodded. "You are right, I suppose," he said, "my relationship with Glorfindel has already been ruined - he has already seen all that he needs to know about my rivalling feelings between him and Sauron to realise that I do not love him as completely as he does I. My relationship with my children - save for Laiglas, I suspect - has also already been shaken. As for my public reputation, I expect once the audience leaves Taniquetil and shares what it has seen of my memories and what it has heard from my mouth in that courtroom, that too will be forever tarnished." His face tightened spasmodically. "It is all over. I sometimes think that I would have done better to remain on Middle-earth."

"And yet perhaps not - and especially not for your children."

"Aye." Lindir wondered, though, if Elrond knew what had not yet been stated at court; that Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden were Sauron's children.

There was another long silence. Then Elrond rose, indicating that he intended to leave. Lindir rose as well, as was their custom. "I must leave you now with your thoughts and the view," Elrond said. "But I hope we may be able to meet again soon and speak together. Hopefully with better cheer."

"As do I. Thank you, Elrond."

Then Elrond smiled and inclined his head. Lindir did the same. When he straightened, Elrond nodded at him and then turned and walked away to disappear into the deep shadows at one corner of the back of the cavern.

~*~

Glorfindel observed the darkened windows of Ecthelion's rooms in silence for a few moments. Then, biting his lip, he turned away to head to his rooms. Perhaps a sleep would do him better - certainly it would swiften the passing of time and by extension, the shrinking of his currently bloated stomach, which was full of the best fare of King Ingwë's table.

It had been a mistake to eat so much... almost as much of a mistake as his having ventured to the table in the first place. He could not suppress a wince as he thought back over the questions that his mother and the Queen had asked him there. He of course intended to return to Tirion, did he not? What did he intend to do on his return to Tirion? Did he perhaps intend to travel? Visit Alqualondë? Venture further? Glorfindel exhaled as he reached his door and, on pushing it open, walked inside and into the bedroom. There, he took off his robe and toed off his shoes before throwing himself heavily, face-first, onto the bed.

Then he winced and, on finding his stomach squashed under his own weight, rolled over onto his side.

Oh, he did not fancy eating breakfast tomorrow. But of course, he had told Silmo that he would meet Lindir for lunch. A sore stomach now aside, he saw no reason not to stick to his word. He would see Lindir for lunch... even if they had nothing to speak about together. Even if the atmosphere would be tense between them. Even if...

"Oh goodness," he sighed and he ran a hand over his face. "Tomorrow will be a disaster. I would be better off not going to meet him at all. Why, perhaps it would be best if I left him alone on Taniquetil until the end of the trial. After all, what will attending court and seeing more of Lindir's recollections do for us? Do for me? If he desires a familiar face, he has Laiglas and Lindo and Linden and perhaps Gloredhel and Glingal too."

It had been what his mother had suggested to him, quietly, after the supper when the rest of them had been drinking and his mother's tongue seemed to have loosened somewhat. "Why not use the months until the end of the year to refind your roots? You have never travelled much - not even as a child, but you should do so for Valinor has changed much and grown much and only grown more marvellous over the Ages."

"I told you earlier," Glorfindel had begun to say, intending to speak of his intention to not abandon Lindir and to venture that perhaps he would travel indeed, but that should he do so, he would take Lindir with him.

"Ah, aye," she interrupted him, with a sharp look across him to where the Queen sat talking amiably with Ingwë, "but Glorfindel, this trial plainly causes you great distress. It is not ill for a couple to take a short break from each other during trying times. Absence will make the heart grow fonder so perhaps your time away from Taniquetil will allow you to refocus on the positive aspects of your relationship and forget the negatives."

"Hm."

She had reached over and refilled his goblet with wine then. "Come, darling. I do not wish to see you so hurt in love and I know that if he loves you too, then he will not be happy to see you upset and would prefer if you took a rest from the relationship as well."

And so Glorfindel had drunk and then he had drunk more and then, finally, feeling unwell, he had retired and gone to seek Ecthelion whose unbiased opinion and honesty he thought would surely shine some clarity onto his own muddled thoughts. But Ecthelion had already retired to bed or was absent at some other engagement and so now Glorfindel was all alone - yet again.

~*~

Shortly after Elrond left, Silmo came over and sat beside him. Lindir looked at him, but beyond shooting him a smile, Silmo did not appear to desire to speak to him. So Lindir smiled back and turned his head to look back at the view of the starry sky through the quivering leaves that lay between him and the cave entrance. It was very quiet - some would call it painfully so, but Lindir enjoyed it and after a while, he suddenly found himself appreciating the fact that Silmo was a Maia and not another elf for whilst an elf did make a little noise, a Maia made no noise at all. It was almost as if the Maia was not there at all. Lindir suddenly wondered what it would be like to sit beside a Vala.

At dawn, when the sky began to turn first grey and then - somewhat to Lindir's surprise - began to bleed red across the fluffy clouds that had gathered since Elrond's departure, Silmo rose and told him that they had to leave lest they become caught in one of Manwë's morning blizzards.

"It is a favourite time of his to hinder the passage of everyone, as some say," Silmo said as he ushered Lindir out of the garden. As they ducked beneath the fronds of the vine at the entrance, Lindir smiled once more when the blossoms lightly brushed his hair. Then, as he was faced with the narrow barren cliff path once more and the prospect of a blizzard on the summit, his smile faded.

~*~

Lindir had observed many dawns in Eregion with Annatar. At first, standing on different sides of a room and then, as their friendship blossomed, on the same seat at a window or in a quiet garden. And then, at last, touching... in some manner.

Dawn was one of those two times of day when their favourite times were combined. It was a time when Annatar could savour his love for the darkness and cold in that penultimate frozen note before the glowing, golden rays of Arien would burst across the horizon to engulf it. Likewise, it was a time when Lindir could rejoice in his own love for the new light and warmth.

Even though dawn indeed heralded Arien and not the darkness, Annatar always seemed to enjoy dawn more than dusk. Once, at dawn, Lindir had ventured to ask him the reason as to why he did not like to watch the dusk - which heralded the dark - so much as the dawn. Annatar had answered, "In my mind, there is only a mockery of the heralding of darkness in the dusk for there is no true dark in the night here. There are stars, and Ithil, when he is less wayward, will light your path. At least at dawn, one may be assured that it is the coldest time of day." And then Annatar had looked pointedly at Lindir, who had been sitting wrapped up in a thick hooded fur cloak and was wearing padded stockings, and Lindir had laughed.

"Of course," Annatar had added then, with a smile, "there is also the small matter of the jewel smiths often being required at work in the smitheries at dusk."

"Ha! Aye. Aye, indeed."

As for Glorfindel... well, Glorfindel had also observed dawns with him. But for some reason, perhaps a reason that he did not wish to admit to himself, Lindir had never enjoyed them quite as much as he had done with Sauron. Whenever Glorfindel observed a dawn with him, his arm around him, Lindir leaning against him, Lindir had always felt as if something was wrong with the image... as if something was missing. As if the absence of Sauron had somehow drained all meaning for him out of this once truly beloved time of day.

That said, it had been dawn when he had emerged from the Misty Mountains all those thousands of years ago. And it had been a red dawn too. A bleeding dawn.

~*~

Sleep eluded him so Glorfindel, after tossing and turning for awhile and giving an occasional curse as to the pain that his distended belly was giving him, rose and wandered out of his room. Perhaps a stroll would ease digestion. Certainly a little exposure to the elements would assist in cooling his limbs, which felt clammy and swollen.

It was quiet in the halls now. Save for the occasional servant, everyone seemed to have retired for the night. He went into the courtyard and did a few turns on the lawn, bright with the scattered yellow petals of the trees in the moonlight before deciding that he had had enough of turning and that he wished to lie back down on his bed. So he stepped through one of the archways that bordered the courtyard and walked back into the halls, intending on taking a roundabout route back to his rooms.

On his way, he happened to pass by a closed door to a room that he did not recognise, but realised must have been allocated to Gloredhel for he could hear Gloredhel's and Glingal's voices emanating from within its walls. The tension in their hushed voices aroused his attention and so, in spite of his own dislike of eavesdropping, he paused, concerned, to listen in on their discussion.

"As I said, the facts speak for themselves." It was Glingal speaking here. "Lindir willingly bonded himself to Sauron and vice versa. They are lovers; there is no other way to explain it. Such bonds cannot be made lightly; not even Morgoth could make such a bond if he so desired and as far as I know, such bonds are not temporary, but permanent; there is no way to break them. Lindir is therefore bound to two individuals and his affections must be divided, though whether the division is equal, I do not know. I feel, however, in my heart, that Lindir loves Glorfindel less than he loves Sauron. He has shown Glorfindel - indeed he has shown you and I - such little trust and hidden so much from us as to make all of our relationships with him worthy of being called and based on lies. And as far as I know, he has behaved before Sauron with no such hesitation."

"Glingal, there was little else that he could do at the time in Imladris, indeed ever. How can one say, 'I am Sauron's lover, but I mean and will do you no harm?' in Imladris? You must ask yourself why he left Dol Guldur in the first place. Would you take your children and flee your lover into realms whose people would not only reject you, but also perhaps kill you for your association with such evil? Only something terrible could drive someone to make such a decision."

Outside, Glorfindel folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes fixed blankly on the smooth wood of the closed door. He thought back to what Elrond had told him in these same halls only a few weeks ago when Lindir had disappeared for the first time.

_When he was found, by Mithrandir or Olórin as he is now called, neither Lindir, Laiglas, nor Lindo showed signs of abuse beyond the permanent changes made within their bodies. They were not ill fed; not confused as is often the case with those caught in Sauron's spells; and, most strangely of all, not crippled with fear. Their ability to reason was remarkable and at the time, Olórin told me that he was certain that Laiglas would have had shrewdness and agility enough to escape Dol Guldur if he had so wished._

"I think that Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden were never in any danger from any elves, save perhaps those perceptive enough to discern their true father through them," Glingal said then. "But as far as we know, not even Elrond, who with Gil-galad, saw through Sauron's disguise as Annatar on the borders of Lindon, saw through those three."

"I spoke to Lindo on the summit. He told me that he and Linden had not believed that Sauron was their father until recently when Laiglas had confronted them with their own powers. Unlike Laiglas, they were disguised in appearance from birth. If the individual themselves does not know their true identity, what then can Elrond divine? There is no hidden intent; no shrouded evil. There is only ignorance and we all suffer, even Elrond, from that affliction."

"But Lindir knew that they all were Sauron's children, did he not?"

"I... I suppose he would have known the father of his children indeed. How could he not know as the mother? He bore each of them," Gloredhel said. "Perhaps he never told them - to protect them. But Glingal, we do not know the reasons why Lindir left Dol Guldur. As I said, something terrible must have threatened him. His relationship with Sauron could have changed for the worse. Perhaps there was some threat that was not Sauron, but enough of a reason to cause him to obey Olórin's request and leave and take his children with him."

"Even so," Glingal said, "I do not know what to think of Lindir any more. There is callousness about the way in which he entered Glorfindel's house. They made a deal: if you, Gloredhel, were born, Glorfindel would adopt Lindir's family. If not, perhaps Lindir and our siblings would have been cast from Imladris within the year. You and I are both fortunate that Glorfindel is of the sort that holds to their word, but I wonder if those scruples will be his undoing."

"And yet they bonded too. Eventually."

"Do you believe in fate, Gloredhel?"

"I do not. I believe in consequences, but not fate. I also believe in foresight. I have little of it. Glorfindel has more, I think. I wonder if he has seen something of the future."

"I do not believe in fate either."

Outside the room, Glorfindel smiled thinly and wished that he had less of the little foresight with which he had been gifted for he could only see darkness ahead.

~*~

Sauron had been in a hurry indeed and as Lindir followed him out of the rooms of the newly deceased orc and his still alive elf-slave, he found himself panting slightly as he struggled to keep up with the other's brisk pace. It did not seem as if Sauron was travelling at a very great pace, but then Lindir supposed that his years of confinement in the pit had crippled his health to such an extent that running even half as fast as he had once been able to do comfortably in Eregion was now excruciatingly painful, perhaps even impossible. But he could not easily judge the extent of his deterioration in health in such darkness and strange territory. Down more corridors they went, all of them deserted, through blackness, through the lit ways, and then back into darkness. The only noise in these dark corridors was the sound of his scrambling footsteps and his lungs wheezing for air. There was no light. His only means to detect the whereabouts of Sauron was the occasional touch to his back and, in the corridors in which a draft could be felt, the ripples in the air around the tall figure that was sometimes beside him and sometimes ahead. He wondered why he was not yet sweating: was he dehydrated or had his body simply forgotten how to sweat?

When at last they returned to the light and entered into a deserted, but lit cavern and, finally, Sauron's pace slowed to a halt, Lindir stopped running and, doubling over, rested his hands on his thighs and sought desperately to catch his breath. Sauron did nothing for few moments. He just stood there, not looking at him, but at an obscure passageway that led onwards, but Lindir sensed that the Maia had halted for him and he struggled harder to gain back his breath and straightened as soon as the pain had left his chest and the stitch his side.

Immediately, Sauron, with a cursory glance at him, turned and with a slightly slower and noticeably more commanding step, began to pace down the passageway and into new, but also deserted caverns. Lindir eventually fell behind again, but made an effort to stay close enough so that he might not lose sight or, with a few bounds, touch of the Maia. Then, when Lindir saw Sauron disappear around a corner from where emitted at last the signs of inhabitants: soft voices in chatter and the ruddy light of a dancing fire... he hesitated. Then, balling together his courage, he hurried after him.

He discovered Sauron standing beside the large fire in the centre of this new cavern and engaged in conversation with a tall orc that Lindir recalled having addressed them all on their arrival at the mountains. Was this then the captain of whom the now dead orc with the elf-slave had spoken? He swallowed and, on seeing that the few orcs that were also in the cavern were keeping their distance from the two, decided to stand and wait a cautious distance away from the pair of them. Even so, he kept his ears pricked.

"...and that is why we had to separate them," the captain was telling Sauron in the Black Speech.

"Is Rána amongst those who are to come to Mordor?"

"Nay. He did not fit the criteria, my lord. Should I make an exception for him?"

"Aye."

The captain bowed. "As you wish, my lord." Then he turned and waved at two nearby orcs and told them to fetch Rána and to take him to the rest, whatever "the rest" meant. Lindir supposed he would find this out soon if he were to also accompany Sauron to Mordor. His heart lifted a little on hearing that Rána was to come with him. Perhaps, with luck, they might be able to stay close and speak to one another - even once at their destination.

He also wondered at these unknown criteria by which Rána had been deemed unfit to travel to Mordor.

The captain returned to Sauron's side then. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"Nay. Show me to the captives." Then Sauron turned and beckoned Lindir, indicating that he was follow them. "Come."

Lindir inclined his head and when Sauron and the captain turned and walked on, he obeyed. A few moments later, he was standing outside in a shallow cave lined with sand and staring, not at the captives that were there already waiting for them, not at golden haired Halmir and those others who were pale shadows of those proud elves who had disappeared long ago from the pit, but through the damp, cold air and the surrounding thick canopy of trees at the streaks of rich red blood that were slowly diffusing across the cottony clouds in the sky.

~*~

On their return to the summit, Silmo led him back along a different route; one that would lead them past the courtroom so that Lindir might have an opportunity, if the weather permitted, to gaze upon the halls in which he had and would continue to present his evidence to the court. As they drew near to the courtroom and began to weave their way between and through the neighbouring buildings, they entered a low carriage tunnel and it was here that Lindir suddenly stiffened and looked behind him and into the shadows that still clung to the nooks of the ice walls at the edge of the tunnel and beyond. He swallowed.

He was sure that they were being followed. He scanned the view behind him slowly. Then, unable to see anything save for his own footprints in the snow (for Silmo did not leave footprints), he pursed his lips and turned back to follow after Silmo who was up ahead. Then, when he suddenly found the tall frame of Laiglas standing right in front of him and blocking his way, he jumped and yelped in fright. "Laiglas," he breathed then, a hand on his heart.

"Forgive me," Laiglas said, but his lips were curved in an amused smile and the corners of his eyes were crinkled with amusement. There was not even the faintest of traces of the slight chilliness and tension that usually hung about him in the presence of his siblings or indeed all other elves. Lindir exhaled heavily and then smiled and shook his head as he lowered his hand back to his side.

"It is forgotten," he said. And indeed it was for the shock had already fled before the face of the flooding joy and warmth that now filled him at the sight of his eldest son. "How long have you been following us?"

"For a little while," Laiglas said. "I was wandering the outside pathways of the buildings and enjoying the dawn when I suddenly spotted you and Silmo in the distance." He smiled and leaned down to press his lips gently to Lindir's cheek in a gesture of welcome. "And so I decided to follow after you."

"I see." Lindir smiled and kissed him back.

"How are you?" Laiglas asked as he pulled away.

Lindir just smiled. "Better." And indeed, he was much better. The sight of Laiglas had lifted his heart to immeasurable levels. "What of you?"

"I? I am well. But tell me. What are you doing here on the summit?"

"Oh. I was not sleepy so Silmo showed me to a garden just below the ridge of one of the cliffs. It was pleasant. Elrond was there."

"I see." Laiglas's eyes crinkled with amusement again as he smiled. "I am glad to hear that it was pleasant for you."

Silence dropped between them then, but their smiles remained. Then, abruptly, as Lindir cast his mind back to his encounter with Elrond, his smile faded and he reached out and rested his hand on Laiglas's forearm. "Laiglas, I told Elrond about how my parasite requires regular mating with another one of its kind and... subsequently, told him about how you helped me."

Laiglas did not seem shocked. Instead he nodded to convey he had heard him and said, with a slight knit in his brow, "How did he respond?"

"He seemed to take it well. He asked a few questions, but remained very calm throughout."

"Do you think he already suspected what we did together?"

"Perhaps. I do not think so, though. He asked questions like to one who was new to such a concept."

Laiglas nodded once more and then his lips twitched into a small smile. "Let us think no more on it for now. What are you doing for lunch?"

"I do not know." Lindir looked at Silmo, who was still standing and waiting up ahead at the lip of the tunnel a few feet away. A few snowflakes were drifting in the air and Lindir wondered, on seeing Silmo's pursed expression, if there was a blizzard coming on the air. Would there be time to see the courtroom? Would he have to leave Laiglas's company soon? "Silmo, are we doing anything for lunch?" he asked.

"I was thinking of a picnic somewhere on the summit," Silmo said. "Perhaps Laiglas would care to join us?" His gaze shifted to Laiglas, who turned his head to look at him and with a polite smile, inclined his head in acquiescence.

"I would be happy to do so. Where shall I meet you?"

"Under the only linden tree on the summit," Silmo said. "You know it?"

"I know it well," Laiglas replied, still smiling.

Lindir looked at Silmo then. "Is there to be a blizzard?"

"Aye," Silmo said. He raised a hand and beckoned him. "Laiglas, we must leave you now. Lindir must rest."

Laiglas kissed Lindir's cheek once more and then, on drawing back and straightening, inclined his head at both of them. "Until lunch, then."

"Indeed," Lindir said, and then he turned and hurried off after Silmo, a smile on his lips and his heart considerably lighter.

Chapter 31

He was not allowed to travel with Rána. For some reason, Rána was kept separate from the other captives, the latter of whom with which Lindir was obliged to walk after his hands had been cuffed. Orcs surrounded them on all sides – in a square formation. They bore whips, but Lindir did not see them used for no one of the captives within the square descending the slope seemed to have inclination enough to try to escape or even to at least try to make trouble for Sauron. Not even those who Lindir knew were not of Eregion, but who he assumed must have been captured at some later date. Rather surprised, Lindir looked around at the other elves under the dappled shade of the trees on the mountain slopes. None of them, save for Rána who he could not see as Rána was walking behind the square, seemed to be of those who had lived with him in the pit since they had split up after their branding. He thought back to the criteria for selection to travel to Barad-dûr that the captain had mentioned to Sauron in the cavern and wondered what was so special about the elves around him.

He looked at their faces, trying to catch their eyes and perceive something of their hearts, but none of them looked at him. None of them even looked at each other. Their eyes seemed fixed, ceaselessly, on the road ahead and as the day progressed and Lindir heard and saw not a single word or even a glance exchanged between any of the elves, and he saw not a single orc even raise a whip in silent warning at them, his confusion turned slowly to dismay and he felt a sick sensation pool in his gut. What was wrong with them? What had happened to them?

Halmir was close to him; still the only elf with golden hair. That elf who had taken the brand first of those captives from Eregion and taken it without fear or struggle. He was walking in the line to Lindir's immediate right and ahead of Lindir by two bodies. When, at last, they reached the edge of the forest and the party stopped, assumedly until nightfall for the sake of the sunlight sensitive orcs, Lindir pushed the silent and uncomplaining elf in front of him forward a little so that when they were permitted to sit, he sat down almost directly in front of Halmir.

He looked at Halmir's absent expression, at the eyes that were directed at him, but seemed either to be looking straight through him or not seeing anything at all. Confused, Lindir looked around to assure himself that no orcs were watching him with a threatening expression before reaching out with his cuffed hands to lightly touch Halmir's knee. "Halmir," he said in a low voice, and then, when Halmir did not respond, he repeated himself a little louder, "Halmir." He nudged Halmir's knee now - hard enough to jolt the other's leg slightly.

But Halmir did not respond. Halmir only continued to stare straight through him. Puzzled, Lindir turned to look for Rána, but he could not see the elf behind the lines of orcs that were milling around the slope. He winced when, on looking further up the slope, the sun that was shining through the leaves caught his eyes. It was painfully bright. He turned his head away and looked for Sauron, but Sauron had disappeared beyond the line of trees and ventured into the marshy fields that cuddled the eaves.

Something landed beside him and nudged his own knee. He looked at it and saw a piece of bread lying there, an orc standing above - its sex unknown beneath its armour - and looking at him with another piece of bread in one of its hands. Lindir picked up the piece of bread and held it out to the orc, hesitant, unsure if the bread was for him. The orc shook its head and crouched down beside him to hold out a piece of dried meat and a water skin. Lindir nodded and took both. He drained the water skin to halfway before handing it back.

"What has happened to them?" he asked then in the Common Tongue. He pointed at the absent-faced and silent elves sitting around them. "Why do they not recognise me?"

The orc followed his outstretched finger and scanned the elves' faces. Then it looked back at Lindir. Then, without expression, it rose and walked away.

In Silmo's bed, on Mount Taniquetil, Lindir rolled onto his side and nuzzled his nose into the junction where the blanket met the pillow. As he cast his gaze briefly around the room, his brow creased for a few moments when he observed that Silmo had disappeared.

 _I suppose that is no surprise,_ he thought to himself. _I was asleep, after all. Perhaps he did not wish to disturb me._ He sighed, his face cleared, and he pulled the blanket over his head. It was already mid-morning.

~*~

When Silmo suddenly appeared in Glorfindel's bedroom, Glorfindel was only half-surprised. He had had a feeling that the Maia would call on him. The Maia glanced at the untouched meal that was sitting on the narrow table near the bed and Glorfindel, on noticing the glance, felt a nauseated ripple drift through his belly. He did not let his repulsion at the idea of food reach his face, however. Not that there was much room for repulsion above the unease and guilt that already painted his expression.

"Please apologise to Lindir for me," he said. "I do not think it a good idea for me to lunch with him today." Then, a little cattily, he added, "It was as you foresaw."

But Silmo did not seem offended by the jibe. "Indeed. I knew you would not come to lunch with him today. I will not apologise to him on your behalf, however, because I did not even tell him that there were plans for you to lunch together. Instead, he will lunch with Laiglas."

"Good," Glorfindel said, and he meant it. Even if he disliked and now distrusted Laiglas based on his last encounter with the half-elf, he was glad that Lindir would be spending his first lunchtime free of the ordeals of the trial with someone he loved, even if Glorfindel would have preferred Glingal or Gloredhel be with him instead. "Why did Glingal and Gloredhel leave Lindir yesterday? I thought I asked you to convince them to stay with him."

"They left because Lindir requested they leave. The meeting of Lindir's desires is of greater importance to me than meeting yours or your sons' wishes."

"Even if their presence might benefit Lindir in the long term? Provide him with some security, some assurance that the elvish community does not entirely reject him?"

"Glorfindel, I am a servant of Lord Irmo, Master of Dreams. I can read desires and at the moment, to Lindir, Gloredhel and Glingal are not merely representatives of the larger community of Elvenhome, but also representatives of you, and you are no small source of distress for him at this current time."

Glorfindel's face tightened. "Then would you - nay, would he - prefer if I stayed away from him? Perhaps I should return to Tirion?" Glorfindel toyed with the words that his mother had so flippantly tossed at him the previous night.

Silmo's answer both appeased and unappeased him. "Nay, I would not," the Maia said. "I would have you near so that you may be accessible should he desire your presence in the future. I would have you far enough away, however, to ensure that your presence does not cause him pain."

"You mean, for the length of time of the trial."

"Indeed."

"But what of after the trial? Will you continue to care for him then? Will his desires and health still be of the upmost importance to you then? Will you be – are you able to mend the grief that seems to have overtaken him since you first abducted and forced him to participate in Sauron's trial? Sauron will not care for him; he will not even be allowed to see him."

"You think not? You think Sauron will be cast from Arda with the permission of Eru?"

"Silmo, I do not think Sauron deserves even that fate, although I admit I know nothing of what such a fate entails. I think Sauron only deserves to be destroyed, but that is unlikely. The Valar seem to possess an infinite mercy that I cannot, although I do have mercy, I cannot spare any of mine for Sauron."

"You are indeed a child of Ingwë."

"What?"

"Nevertheless," Silmo said, pushing on, "what will be will be. I trust that events will work out to the satisfaction of all those involved."

Glorfindel shook his head. "When has that ever held true, Silmo?"

"It is idealists, not realists, that change the world, Glorfindel," Silmo replied. He turned away then to face the window and Glorfindel sensed that their conversation had come to an end and that Silmo was about to leave.

"Before you leave," he said quickly.

"Aye?"

"Why did you bother to come and see me at all if you knew that I was not coming to lunch? If Lindir's desires are your priority, why leave his side to come and visit lowly me?"

"Ha." Silmo's shoulders jerked slightly with the amused exhalation. The Maia looked back at him sidelong. "Lindir is currently resting with his memories," he said, "but Glorfindel, through Lindir, you are of importance to me and I can perceive that you are not merely confused and frustrated right now, but also hurt and alone. I thought a few moments of my time would not go astray in helping to dampen that loneliness, especially as your mood will undoubtedly affect Lindir's on your next meeting with him."

"I would prefer if you put that vainglorious effort into encouraging my friends to visit me."

Silmo laughed. "That I have, for Ecthelion is currently instructing a servant to invite you to lunch with him."

"Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me. Ecthelion is doing this entirely of his own volition. I hope he helps to comfort you."

"As do I."

Silmo inclined his head. "I wish you well, Glorfindel."

"Thank you." Glorfindel returned the gesture and watched the Maia Silmo fade away until all he was left with were the dust motes floating in the sunlight before his window and the sickening smell of breakfast that still lingered in the air.

~*~

Before long, dusk arrived at the edge of the forest and the party rose and continued to make its way north-east towards the Old Forest Road. On looking back at the forest, Lindir observed that the tree line extended steadily southwards before suddenly thickening considerably. He wondered for a few moments why Sauron did not simply head south and make further use of the tree cover by remaining beneath it until the road east to Mordor was as short as possible. Then, moments later, when he caught himself scanning the tree line that led towards Lorinand for signs that might indicate at the presence of elves, he noted that he was thinking, mistakenly, like an elf of Eregion. If he was a servant of Sauron, trees were no longer his friends. Lorinand was no longer a haven. He had to change his perspective.

They marched for a few hours in near silence. No one spoke. Not even the armour of the orcs made much noise, even to Lindir's elven ears. The orcs' armour was well fitted to each hulking, muscular body, not at all like those so often seen on the battlefields, which looked mass-produced. Occasionally a troop of orcs would move ahead of them for a bit. Lindir could not see much over the tall elves in front of him and the multitude of orcs in front of them so he lost count of the time, location, size, and nature of these small breakaway groups. Above them, the sky was cloudless and the stars shone like gems. Lindir wondered what had happened to the necklace that Sauron had gifted him with in Eregion.

Then, close to midnight, as they neared a line of steep cliffs that lined the west side of the Anduin River, still some six days from where they might safely cross to the eastern side, he saw, creeping up over the lip, a small tendril of smoke and the flicker of fire light. As they grew closer, close enough for the orcs to discern the light, Lindir looked at them for a reaction, but they seemed unsurprised so Lindir assumed that there was a company waiting to meet them. Perhaps they had boats. That would surely hasten their journey to Barad-dûr.

Moments later, he and the other elves, Rána included, were led aside and bade to sit down. A few orcs remained with them. The rest of them and Sauron himself - some hundred or so in total, moved onwards towards the cliff where they soon disappeared out of sight as they made their way down the rocky paths that led down to... well, from wherever came the fire. Lindir wondered what tidings this new company bore. He looked at Rána, who was sitting a few feet away from the square, and was about to nod at the other elf in greeting when he heard a distant and unmistakably _elvish_ cry of dismay from the base of the cliff. There was a clashing of swords, a few more cries, and then silence. Then, shortly afterwards, Sauron's army reappeared at the top of the cliff. There were no captives. There were no new orcs. The company returned to its original formation and continued on its way - marching up the western banks of the Anduin. Lindir, on looking around at the orcs, observed that none of them seemed to be injured or even so much as a little bit puffed with exertion. He wondered why the elvish party had not had anyone on watch. Then he wondered, on thinking back to the breakaway groups of orcs, if perhaps a group of orcs ahead had taken out the elvish watchers and told Sauron about the elves in advance.

His suspicions were proved correct when not long afterwards a troop of orcs came out from behind a rocky outcrop a mile north of the site and milled silently back into line. How organised. Elves, Lindir realised, were mistaken when they generalised orcs as slovenly, disorganised, rabbling, and unskilled. Whoever wrote and spoke in support of such generalisations evidently knew little of their subject. But then again, by generalising orcs as everything hateful and evil and cruel and worthy of ridicule, it excused, in a sense, the slaughter of them, in battle or no. Lindir had heard tales from scholars in Lindon that orcs themselves were brainwashed to believe that all elves were cruel and untrustworthy and evil and indeed cannibals. So the hatred went both ways. It struck Lindir as ironic that whilst one side fought in the name of the Valar, the other side also fought in the name of... well, one of the Valar. Morgoth. Lindir wondered if this constant battle would ever end. He wondered if either side was really listening to the Valar and Ilúvatar or if one or both were indeed doing Ilúvatar's bidding. What a horrible thought. He winced when he stubbed his toe on a stone.

~*~

By the time Lindir awoke, Silmo had returned. It was now almost noon so after washing and dressing, Lindir and he made their way to the summit. Once there, Silmo led Lindir to Eönwë's house and after traversing its icy interior for a few passageways, they entered a private courtyard that held a number of adult trees (and notably, no snow). Some of the trees were known to Lindir, some not. They stood in a random arrangement that was so aesthetically pleasing that Lindir, on gazing at it, knew not only that the arrangement was not random, but also had the slightly uneasy feeling that he was standing amidst a majestic collection of "do not touch" specimens like to the contents of Celebrían's rose garden in Imladris.

"Some of these specimens were planted in the Age of the Trees," Silmo told him. "This mallorn here..."

But Lindir was already no longer listening to him. Instead, he was distracted by a touch to his arm and turning, he received Laiglas's kiss to his cheek with a smile before returning the gesture.

"You rested well, I hope?" Laiglas said. When Lindir answered to the affirmative, he smiled. "That is good news. Now come." He tucked Lindir's arm in his own and nodded towards one side of the courtyard. "We are to lunch beneath the linden tree, which is not easy to see from this angle. Lunch already waits for us, courtesy of Eönwë, our host."

"Besides Silmo, will Eönwë or indeed will anyone else be joining us?" Lindir asked as they made their way towards the tree and the thick rugs spread with food around the base.

"I have not seen Lindo since last night and am unaware of his whereabouts so could not invite him, but Linden said she greatly desired to see you so she intends to join us. She said that we should not wait for her, however, as she may be delayed. She did not say why, unfortunately."

They sat and shortly afterwards, Silmo came over to join them whereupon they began to eat. But Silmo ate little and the conversation, in his presence, was a little cautious. Happily, after a time, the Maia excused himself, rose, and left the courtyard. Perhaps he had sensed that his presence was inhibiting them. Regardless, Lindir and Laiglas suddenly found themselves alone beneath the tree. For a while they ate silently. Then Laiglas suddenly stirred and said, "With regards to what you told me earlier about your conversation with Elrond and what you revealed to him about our relationship, I think that, if you are pressed by the matter by anyone else, you should confront them with the question as to whether death for both of us was preferable to..." He did not finish his sentence. Instead he gestured vaguely with the slice of toasted bread in his hand before taking a generous bite. "Lindir, there was nothing else that either of us could do. We had no choice."

Lindir nodded, his eyes fixed on the dishes laid out before them. Finally he spoke. "Laiglas, that is not what troubles me." Indeed, if anything troubled him about his relationship with Laiglas, it was not so much their past intimacy, which had been essentially forced upon them by circumstance, as their current relationship and Laiglas's abnormally strong affection for him, which was surely more affection than a son should have for a parent. But even so, currently his relationship with Laiglas was a much smaller weight on his mind than his relationships with Glorfindel and Sauron. "Can you remember much of Sauron from when you were a child?" he said then.

"Nay. I was very small and he rarely came to see us," Laiglas said. "I do remember, however, how you were the only elf who did not seem to be afraid of him. I also remember, how whenever he arrived at your side he always seemed to know exactly what was going on inside your body, without needing anyone to brief him, and how his hands, wherever they touched you, would seem to instantly bring you relief."

Lindir smiled slightly. "Have you seen him since you went to fetch that creature from him?"

Laiglas hesitated. He pushed the rest of his piece of bread into his mouth and slowly chewed and then swallowed.

Lindir frowned. Was that a little ruefulness in Laiglas's expression? "Laiglas?" he prompted softly.

"Aye," Laiglas admitted then, "aye, I have been to see him since then. I saw him last night. Eönwë let me see him."

"Did you speak to him?"

"Aye." Laiglas picked up a fork and began probing its prongs at the contents of a bowl of fruit salad.

"Of what did you speak?"

"I..." Laiglas hesitated again. He forked a bit of strawberry into his mouth. Then, as he lowered the fork and swallowed, he said, "I asked him... if he loved us."

Lindir faltered. Then, supposing the response, but still hopeful that it might be different to his expectations, he pressed, "Did he respond?"

"Nay. He ignored me. The only thing he said to me throughout my visit was my name and that was in response to my greeting; when he acknowledged me."

Lindir nodded, unsurprised. But he smiled a little on thinking of Sauron at least acknowledging Laiglas. "Of what else did you speak?"

"Nothing else. I stayed there for some time. I sat on the steps that lead from his rooms to his garden – to his lookout. He just stood there, looking out, facing away from me most of the time." He looked at Lindir. "Do you think he stays like that all day and night? What do you suppose he thinks about all the time?"

"I have never seen him sleep," Lindir replied. "As for what he thinks about, I imagine he thinks a great deal about the trial."

"Do you think he thinks about you?"

Lindir blinked. Then, when he felt a lump suddenly appear in his throat, he swallowed. "I doubt it," he said, "except in connection to the trial. He has no other use for me right now."

"Do you think he only thinks about you when he has a use for you?"

"Well..." Lindir said. His voice suddenly sounded rather odd and wooden to his ears. "Most people seem to think in that manner." He reached for the wine bottle. Laiglas beat him to it and Lindir smiled and inclined his head in silent thanks when Laiglas refilled his goblet.

~*~

Night passed and then it was dawn again and again they rested under the cover of trees. Then with dusk came more travel. Then it was dawn again, then dusk, then dawn, then dusk, and with the passing of each day, the forest of Greenwood ahead seemed to swell. Whenever dawn arrived and they lay down to rest, Lindir always looked first for Rána, but although he often saw the elf, they were never allowed close enough to exchange words. Disappointed then, he would turn his eyes to Halmir and the other elves, but as with the first day, they never acknowledged him, or indeed anyone. Their obedience to Sauron and the orcs seemed to be so ingrained in their bodies that they never required orders and always walked when it was time to walk and ate when it was time to eat and drunk and defecated… It was most strange. After a few days, Lindir grew to dislike observing them. They seemed dead somehow. Lifeless, yet animated. Perhaps drugged. Perhaps dead indeed. Frustrated with them, he turned his attention to observing the orcs. Like the elves, they ignored him, but at least each of them seemed to have their own personality. The elves, in comparison, seemed like dolls: different in looks, but the same in substance. The same emptiness. Ironic, considering the multitude of accounts Lindir had read about the orc breeding houses of Angband. He had been taught to believe that each orc was the same as the next. Now it seemed the case was quite the opposite.

It was not until a week later, when they had reached the eastern side of the Anduin and the borders of Greenwood, which at that time extended to the lapping shores of the river in places, that he realised that he had underestimated his own kind. He had been so wrapped up in his belief that Sauron had everything under control, so wrapped up in his cultural cringe that he had truly forgotten that most of the other elves, including Rána, were no ordinary elves. They were elites. They were the ones who had survived the whips and the beatings up to the Misty Mountains. They were the ones who had survived labouring in the pits. They were the ones who had survived with little food and drink and had reigned in their tempers. They had once been warriors of Eriador and some of them were even relics of an Age before Lindir's time when elves had combated not only orcs and humans and dwarves, but had had to outwit their own kind as well.

Halmir, the elf of Lorinand, was one of these elves.

Chapter 32  
One day, some two weeks into their travel, one of the breakaway groups of orcs returned to the main company with prisoners. Three Secondborn females: one woman, two girls. They looked pale and frightened, but did not scream or attempt to escape. They marched with them for a few hours. At the end of the first hour, they passed a farm that Lindir assumed had once been their home. It was smouldering wreckage now. As they passed the gate, vermin fled before their lamps, in the process uncovering a corpse lying face down in a ditch. A severed and heavily bearded human head stared sightlessly at them from where it sat skewered on a broken orc spear. His hair rustled in the breeze. The orc spear, though plunged into the rocky earth, bobbed haphazardly from the point at which it had split.

Two hours later, they had passed out of sight of the farm and it was coming dawn. There, under the cover of trees by the riverside, Lindir sat and waited for his breakfast, courtesy of an approaching orc with a familiar sack. This morning, Halmir was sitting before him. As he waited, Lindir looked around and noticed that the women had been led away out of sight and that the number of orcs around them had significantly decreased. He also noticed that those remaining orcs seemed distracted. He frowned and listened carefully for a few moments, but he could hear nothing. So he turned his attention back to the orc bearing breakfast that was slowly getting closer and closer to him. Five feet away, four feet away, three feet, and then his ration landed in front of him.

As the orc moved on, Lindir, who was busy stuffing his face with a piece of bread, absently looked up, blinked and then froze when he realised that Halmir had turned his head and was looking at him sidelong. Not through him, not vaguely in his direction, but directly at him. He swallowed.

"Look normal." Halmir's voice was soft, almost inaudible; his lips barely moved at all. It rasped as if it had not been used for a long time. "Child, listen to me carefully. When that orc returns with the water skin, I am going to grab his keys. After undoing my cuffs, I am going to pass the keys to you. I expect you to undo your cuffs and then, before you make your escape, to pass the keys to Erelin."

"Who is Erelin?"

"The elf sitting beside the bush; three elves behind you."

"What about the other elves?"

"Erelin will pass the keys on to those others not addled by the poison we ingested. As for those still affected, perhaps the poison will wear off in time, but I fear it will be too late by then. We must act whilst we can still do so and with the orcs distracted by those women, there is a window of opportunity that we must seize now."

"What about Rana?"

"That traitor? We will throw the keys to him last. In spite of his crime, no individual should live in thraldom."

 _But what if,_ Lindir thought, as he heard and felt his lips move to whisper words of quiet agreement to Halmir's words, _what if an individual chooses to live in thraldom?_ He reminded himself that although many elves would recite passionately those words that Halmir had said to him, few elves would add that they would be happy to welcome traitors and ex-thralls into their homes.

Then another more troubling and confusing thought occurred to him. _Are we not already in thraldom? Thralls of Ilúvatar’s world? Thralls to our hroa and its limited ability to traverse the wonders of Arda, supposedly wonders that were made for us?_

Too soon, the orc returned with the water skin. Lindir watched, as if in a daze, as Halmir seized the keys from the orc's belt. Should he help Halmir? Should he betray him? Halmir, who obviously had no desire to submit to the label branded on his chest. Halmir, who was willing to trust him. He watched Halmir manipulate the keys, long fingers so nimble upon the oily metal that they were almost a blur to Lindir's eyes. So fast that by the time Halmir had finished freeing his limbs, the orc was still staring stupidly.

Suddenly the keys landed in his lap. He looked at them and watched his left hand move to take them. The keys felt heavy in his palm. Heavy and greasy. Then, without thinking, without any thought in support or in denial of Halmir's attempt to free himself and the other elves, he watched his hand throw the keys at the foot of the orc, who was now shouting for help. He thought he heard an enraged hiss from the direction of Erelin behind him. He did not look around. Instead he wiped his hand on his black clothes and looked at the orc, who shot him a close look before bending and, without taking his eyes off him, warily picking up the keys. Then the orc turned away to instruct those orcs who had run up about the direction in which Halmir had fled. A group of orcs set off on the elf's trail.

Soon afterwards, the orc with the water skin strode back to Lindir, reached down and seized him, and pulled him up. Not long afterwards, Lindir found himself being sat down beside Rana further back in the group. As the orc that had delivered Lindir stumped away, Rana looked at him. There was a hungry sort of curiosity in his eyes, as if he was scrutinising him closely and reassessing his own position. After a moment, he smiled. "It has been some time," he said. "What is with the commotion further up?"

"Halmir escaped," Lindir said. He did not add the rest of what had happened. But for some reason, Rana already seemed to know what had happened. His smile faded a little bit.

"I thought as much," he said then.

Lindir frowned. "I do not understand. What did you think?"

"I knew you were a spy," Rana said. "All that special treatment. That you are to travel with me now confirms it."

"Are you a spy?"

Rana tilted his head. "Come now. Why else would they separate me from Halmir and the rest?"

"I do not know. Why did they separate you from Halmir?"

"Halmir tried to kill me," Rana said. "He has tried a few times, actually. The last time was soon after we arrived in the mountains, after we were branded."

"Is that why we were separated from Halmir and into two groups?"

"Aye."

Lindir considered this piece of information for a few moments. Then, as he thought of what Halmir had said to him moments before he had fled, he said, "Halmir said that they would throw the keys to you last."

Rana smiled thinly. "Well... thanks to you, they could not do so."

Lindir was unsure of how to interpret Rana's response so he simply nodded slightly and looked ahead towards where he had last seen Halmir's slim, tall frame disappearing through the line of trees. "Do you think they will catch him?" he asked then.

"Actually, I do not care," Rana said quietly.

 _I hope he escapes,_ Lindir thought to himself as he reflected on the desire for freedom that he had seen in Halmir's eyes. "Besides, if they catch him, they may whip him," he said then, softly, but aloud, more to himself than to Rana.

"Nay, they _will_ whip him, Rana corrected.

Day passed. The orcs who had disappeared with the three women returned, the women no longer with them. Lindir wondered if they were dead. Then it was dusk.

~*~

"Glorfindel, you are not hungry?" Ecthelion inquired when he observed Glorfindel picking at the contents of the plate of food Ecthelion had ordered for him.

Glorfindel shook his head and forked a sliver of mushroom between his lips. "I ate too much last night," he said. He paused for a moment before adding, "I ate with Ingwë’s family."

"Is Lindir still on the summit?" On seeing Glorfindel nod slightly, but unsmilingly, Ecthelion frowned and lowered his fork and knife from where he had been skilfully dissecting a nice medium rare piece of steak. "Is something wrong, my friend?"

"Well..." Glorfindel pursed his lips and stared at another sliver of mushroom that he had yet to attack with his fork, "...aye. Circumstances have... changed and it seems that the elf I see as my spouse is nothing at all like the elf..." He trailed off and, dropping his fork to his plate, folded his arms around his chest and took a deep breath. Then he relaxed and picked up his cutlery again. "Ecthelion, since our last meeting, I have discovered that Lindir is bonded not only to me, but to someone else as well."

Ecthelion blinked. He frowned again, but this time as if to himself. Then his face cleared and he glanced at Glorfindel's serious expression before looking aside and frowning to himself again. Then he said, looking back at Glorfindel, "Is that even possible? I thought those were exceptional cases - at least in elves - and only undertaken with the permission of the Valar."

Glorfindel chuckled sourly and picked up his fork again. He skewered the mushroom sliver he had been eyeing earlier. "Well, this could well be an exceptional case in the eyes of the Valar." He popped the sliver into his mouth and chewed and swallowed. Then he explained himself by adding, "It seems that Lindir bonded himself - quite willingly and happily - to Sauron in Eregion during its fall."

There was a long silence.

"The Maia Sauron?" Ecthelion ventured.

"Aye."

Ecthelion was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, softly, with a cautious expression, "Does Lindir... love Sauron?"

"It appears as much."

"You have not asked him for confirmation?"

"I have tried, but he bursts into tears whenever I venture to discuss the matter with him."

Ecthelion nodded. Then he pursed his lips, glanced at his steak, and then looked back at Glorfindel. "Well... I do not know what to say. You had no inkling at all that Lindir was bonded to someone else?"

"Indeed, I had no suspicions; no reason to suspect him."

Ecthelion was silent for a bit longer. Then he said, "But I suppose you never asked him either?"

"Aye. The thought never crossed my mind that he might be bonded. After all, he seemed so young when we first met - too young to be bonded - and he bore no ring. Later, when I did find out his true age and subsequently offered to adopt him, I felt asking was no longer an issue as I assumed that surely, surely he would have already told me about his marital status by then. But then, considering the identity of the one to whom he was bonded, I suppose he could not tell me."

"I do not agree. Even if his spouse was Sauron, he could have simply told you that he was already bonded and left the matter alone."

"Nay, nay." Glorfindel shook his head as he picked up his knife and began to slice up his steak. "I would have felt obligated to investigate into the possibility of reuniting Lindir with his spouse. You know me. My life in Imladris revolved around bolstering the realm's defences, supporting our allies, and rescuing victims of Sauron's handiwork. If I had known that Lindir had a spouse, I would have investigated the circumstances."

"He could have told you that his spouse was dead."

"Even so, I think Lindir felt that any mention of his life before Imladris invited too much curiosity for his comfort." Then Glorfindel tut-tutted and exhaled heavily. "Ai, but I am in no position to place any great trust in what I think Lindir thinks right now. Indeed, I regret, I deeply regret learning the patience I forced myself to learn for him."

"Well, he bore you Gloredhel and Glingal."

"Aye, well, aye he did do that for me although both were accidents, at least in my eyes." Glorfindel searched the thick dark wine sauce that covered one side of his plate with his fork before finding a dried tomato and threading that onto the prongs. He threaded on a piece of steak after it and stuffed the little package into his mouth. Then, on withdrawing the cutlery, he chewed, smiled faintly, and looked at Ecthelion. "This is good."

Ecthelion blinked. Then, looking distracted, he nodded and smiled faintly back. "So," he said then, "what are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." Ecthelion said, with a shrug. He spread his hands, "...you have a spectrum of choices. Lindir's own intentions aside, at one extreme, you may cast him out. Legally, this would usually be awkward as you did adopt him as your dependent and he is the mother of your children, but I daresay any court in Elvenhome would rule in your favour. Your family, certainly, would approve of such a decision. At the other extreme, you may continue your relationship with him as if nothing had happened. After all, Sauron will still be out of the picture, at least with regards to his physical presence. You can juggle the closeness with regards to the children..."

"I forgot to tell you something," Glorfindel said then, interrupting him.

"What is it?"

"Sauron will not be out of the picture with regards to his physical presence because I also found out, on the summit, that Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden are all his and Lindir's children."

There followed then another very long silence.

"Ah," Ecthelion said then. "Well, well... they are now all adults so I expect it is possible, if you really wish to rid yourself of them, to argue a case to un-adopt them, if there is such a word, in court. Glorfindel, you are Ingwë's grandson! What elvish judge in their right mind would dare refuse you?"

"It is not the elvish courts so much as the courts of the Ainur that trouble me. Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden are half-Maian. In theory, I could not seek to un-adopt them before an elvish court. I would have to seek a higher court; one of the courts of the Ainur."

"Well as long as Sauron is not the presiding judge, I do not see a problem. You are plainly a victim. You are not their sire. If anyone is due to support them, it is Sauron and Lindir, not you." Ecthelion poked the last of his steak into his mouth. "Of course, Sauron will most likely be unable to support them after his trial. I rather doubt and I very much hope he will not be released into the general populace and be permitted to work like the rest of us."

"Aye."

"Perhaps he could be employed at Mandos. He is responsible for incarcerating most of the current inmates, after all."

"That is not funny, Ecthelion."

"Actually, I was being serious."

~*~

"What are you going to do when you leave this mountain?" Laiglas asked suddenly from across the picnic blanket. Lindir looked up from where he had been sucking the dip off the corner of a biscuit. His brow knitted and he removed the biscuit from his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Well, now that Glorfindel knows not only that you are bonded and in love with Sauron, but that Lindo, Linden, and I are all Sauron's children, do you really think he will take us back?"

Lindir felt his face tighten slightly. "I have not... given it much thought," he admitted then. "I have been avoiding thinking about it. Do you... do you think Glorfindel knows that I love Sauron?"

"Well..." Laiglas's brow creased. "...well, he was in court yesterday and he was watching that screen. Unless he be both blind and deaf, I rather think it impossible that he not know now that you are in love with Sauron and... considering you are both bonded, that he loves you too."

Lindir snorted. "Sauron does not love me."

"You think not? You think bonds are formed without love, then?"

"Nay, but he is a Maia. Some rules do not apply to Maiar."

Laiglas observed him flatly for a few moments. Then he sighed and said, "Well, I suppose you are the only one qualified enough to answer that question. You and Sauron, but as I said earlier, he refused to answer my question. Perhaps I should ask Eonwe to slip in the question when the court is in session. Then he might feel obliged to offer an answer."

"Laiglas," Lindir muttered. "Even if Sauron does love me, there is no way that we can be together and I would not give up a life in Elvenhome to be with him. Not if it meant sacrificing Glorfindel, Gloredhel, and Glingal."

"But what if, as I said, Glorfindel decides that he does not wish to see you or to be around you anymore? I can see that this question causes you distress, but it is not a question that you can ignore. There is a strong possibility that he will reject you based on what he saw in court yesterday and what he may see in court in the future. This is not mere speculation. This is something that you must think about for your own happiness. Please do not push it to the back of your mind."

"Regardless, it will be impossible for me to live with Sauron after he has been judged. He will not be allowed to live with me."

"You do not wish to live with him?"

"Laiglas... uh..." Lindir exhaled and shook his head slightly, "...that... that is beside the issue."

"Then consider living with me. Just in case there are problems with either of them," Laiglas said then.

"You have a residence?"

"Beyond temporary ones, nay, but I have made inquiries as to more permanent employment."

"Employment? With whom? You do realise that after the conclusion of the trial, should it become common knowledge that you are my child, let alone Sauron's child... employers, I fear, will be less happy to try you."

Laiglas smiled slightly. "That should not be a issue. The employer to whom I made inquiries was Lord Aule."

"Sauron original master?"

"Aye."

"Have you actually spoken to Aule?" Lindir asked doubtfully, unable to imagine his eldest son, however daring he might be, actually talking to one of the great powers of Arda.

Laiglas nodded. "Aye, aye I have spoken to him, both before the trial and during it - on the summit - and I always spoke to him honestly about the identity of my sire. He said he would be happy to try me."

"I see. He does not harbour any grudge about your father being Sauron, then?"

"Nay, not at all. Indeed, I think the fact that Sauron is my father is the reason why he is willing to try me. But this matter aside," and here he leaned forward and reached out to rest a hand for a few moments on Lindir's shoulder, "should you ever find yourself in need of help with regards to your relationship with Glorfindel after the trial, or indeed during it - as with now, feel free to call on me."

Lindir swallowed and smiled. "Thank you, Laiglas. I am sure I will be fine, but thank you." But even so, in the ensuing moments, he felt a blissful warmth cocoon inside his stomach.

Laiglas was closer to him than anyone else. This was not because Lindir had chosen for Laiglas to be his confidante, but rather because as a result of circumstance, Laiglas was the only accessible individual who knew what he had been through and had been through it as well. Lindo had indeed been born and raised a little in Dol Guldur, but he had still been a toddler when they had left with Olórin and as far as Lindir knew, Lindo remembered only fragments of his life as a thrall. Laiglas, on the other hand, had seen enough to not merely wonder at the fragmented images in his head, but to understand them.

It was this reason, therefore, coupled with their past intimacy, and also the fact that he knew that Laiglas had visited Sauron that he then found himself asking his eldest, "Would Eonwe allow you to see Sauron again?"

"Aye, I believe he would allow me to see him again," Laiglas answered. "I am his son, after all. Why do you ask?"

Lindir considered his words for a few moments before making his response. "Laiglas, you, currently, are my closest connection to Sauron. I was thinking, if I wished to do so, would it be possible for me to send him a letter, perhaps, through you?"

Laiglas's face softened. "I would be happy to be a go-between for you."

They spoke awhile longer on trivial matters. Then Laiglas, by way of glancing behind Lindir's shoulder and offering a smile at someone there, indicated that someone had arrived. Lindir turned and saw that Linden had arrived and with her walked Eonwe. Lindir rose and inclined his head and Eonwe did likewise. Linden, however, beamed and ran forward to embrace him. "Oh, I am sorry for my tardiness," she said, before kissing his cheek. "But I am glad to see the colour in your cheeks so soon after yesterday's events," she added on pulling back. "I had heard Glorfindel had returned to Ingwë’s halls. Did you explain everything to him?"

Lindir felt his face stiffen slightly - with defensiveness - and her own face stiffened in response - hers with alarm.

"I am sorry if I spoke without thinking," she said then, more softly.

He shook his head and smiled. "Nay, it is my own fault. I should have... had the courage to speak to him."

She nodded and leaned in to peck him once more on the cheek. "I am sure the conflict will be resolved soon."

 _Hopefully in a more cheerful manner than I envisage,_ Lindir thought as he watched her move to greet Laiglas before sitting down to join them. Eonwe, their host, did likewise and Lindir wondered what the Maia might want with them.

~*~

The first time they mated their creatures was a few weeks after Linden's birth in Imladris. Laiglas had only recently entered into puberty, the time at which his own creature came into adulthood, and Lindir, who had been enjoying some respite from his own creature's demands since his conception of Linden, had pushed to the back of his mind what little he did know about it.

Lindo had been absent from their shared room at the time; Erestor's wife had offered to mind him for the day. Linden had been fast asleep in her cot near the gable window, which was so positioned that golden sunlight basked her blanketed body from the waist down. Lindir had been trying to sleep; he had taken up a post as a cleaner only a few days prior and was trying to rest and recover in time for his night shift.

Laiglas was supposed to be away as well. Or at least, Lindir was sure that he had arranged for Laiglas to have a lesson with Erestor that same afternoon. Whatever had happened between the two, he never found out. All he knew was that he was sleeping one moment and then the next, he was awake and Laiglas was sitting beside him on the bed and looking at him with a both thoughtful and very intent expression.

"Is something the matter, Laiglas?" he had asked. He frowned at the severe expression on the youthful face.

"Aye," Laiglas said. His brow knitted.

"Are you not supposed to be with Erestor?"

"Lindir," Laiglas said, ignoring his question. Lindir had instructed him and Lindo to call him by his first name on their arrival in Imladris. "Lindir, I had a feeling that you might be unwell."

"I? Unwell? I am tired, but not unwell, Laiglas."

Laiglas observed him for a few more moments. Then he nodded, reached over and held his arm for a bit, and then slid from the bed to walk over to the window where Linden was sleeping soundly. Laiglas reached down into the cot. Lindir observed him curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked when he noticed that Laiglas was doing something in the vicinity of Linden's head.

"Turning her head," Laiglas said, "I want her to have a shapely, natural skull. She is too weak still to turn her own head."

Lindir's brow knitted slightly. "Where did you learn that bit of trivia?"

"Dol Guldur."

"You believe it?"

"Well..." Laiglas said as he retracted his hands from the cot, "...her skull _is_ soft and she _is_ unable to turn her own head. Besides, I once met a slave in the corridors whose head was elongate. When he noticed me staring he said that as a baby his forehead was bound with a piece of flat wood so that his skull would distort into the shape."

"You are fortunate that no guards ever caught you wandering the fortress," Lindir said, "I do not know how you did it."

"Humph." Laiglas glanced at him and smiled as he looked back at Linden.

Lindir fell asleep, but he woke soon afterwards to an unusual tickling sensation in his abdomen. The creature inside him was agitated for some reason. Its movements were warm, slow, and comfortable at first, but then it suddenly jolted and pulled at some organ painfully. Lindir winced and rubbed his stomach uneasily beneath the sheets. He glanced at Laiglas, who was observing him from where he was sitting beside the gable window. When the creature jerked again and Lindir heard a hiss of pain escape his lips, Laiglas rose.

"It is hurting you?" he asked as he came over to the bed.

"Aye."

Chapter 33

Rána, to Lindir’s distress the following dawn, was proven correct when the orcs that had set off in pursuit of Halmir suddenly breached the eaves of the forest under which Sauron’s party had camped and Lindir caught sight of a battered bundle of rags and skin lying slung across one of the foremost orc’s shoulders. The matted hair, no longer golden, but streaked brown and black with mud and blood, was the only sign that the body was not in fact a sack, but an elf. Whether he was dead or alive, Lindir did not know, but he supposed, judging from the fact that Sauron was not hauling a few thousand bodies after them from his battles in Eriador, that Sauron had no use for the vessels of the soul.

He watched the orcs until they had disappeared out of sight behind a few trees towards the front of the party. Then he looked back at Rána, who had stopped watching the group moments before and had returned his attention to idling filing the fingernails of his right hand with a small stone. “Why did Halmir attempt to kill you in the mountains?”

Rána stopped sanding away at his thumbnail and lifted his hand to his puckered lips to blow on it gently, sending a small cloud of white flecks on their way to the leafy forest floor.

“What?”

“Halmir,” Lindir repeated with a frown. He was sure that Rána had heard him the first time. “Why did he try to kill you in the Misty Mountains?”

Rána was silent for a bit. Then he said, “I do not wish to talk about it.”

“Oh.” Lindir fell silent for a bit now too. But then, presently, a thought occurred to him and he said, “Will Halmir try to kill me now too?”

“Perhaps. I doubt it. You are a different sort of traitor.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are not mature.”

“Eh?”

Rána looked at him sidelong. There was a wry smile around his lips. “That was a roundabout way of saying that we think you are easily led and therefore somewhat forgivable for your actions.”

“But I am a few centuries now. I am older than Fëanor was when he led that war on Morgoth. And I am – _was_ \- Erestor’s assistant. I am not a sluggard in my mind.”

“I did not say that you were young, I said you were naive. And I know that you are not dim. You are, however, somewhat craven.”

Craven? He was craven? “Well… well, I do not know about that, but at least I am not a hypocrite,” Lindir said crossly.

“Do not seek to judge those whose circumstances you do not know,” Rána said calmly as he returned his attention to his nails.

“Huh! What traitor is not craven? And what do you know of my circumstances to feel so capable of judging me?” But Lindir faltered when he saw Rána’s face, concentrated on his hand, slacken and a brooding, regretful light enter the other’s eyes. The mood thus stagnated, Lindir looked away.

The orcs who had returned from pursuing Halmir were now breaking up from their group and returning to their positions around the party. Lindir did not see Halmir brought back to the foremost group of elves. Instead, the elf’s body seemed to have been left at the front of the party. Perhaps his wounds needed tending or perhaps he really was dead and the only reason his corpse had been brought back was to show Sauron visual proof of their success.

But then, near to him, one of the newly returned orcs came over and was greeted by another orc who had stayed and was sitting on the ground, “So you caught him, then? Congratulations, brother, but is he alive?”

The orc who had come over grunted in agreement and crouched down beside the one who had spoken to look through a sack of supplies that was sitting there.

The one who had spoken pressed on, “I mean, is he alive like the ones next to us or is he alive like the rest of the elves in that front group?”

“Like the ones in front,” the pursuing orc replied absently, his head bent over the opening in the sack, his arms rummaging the depths. “The Eye is examining him.”

“Ah. So no brain. Or at least he looks that way.”

The orc who had been searching suddenly lifted his head and grinned, displaying a mouth of misshapen teeth at the other orc. Lindir was struck suddenly by how different some of the teeth appeared – almost as if some were newly sprouted. “Well whatever brain is in there, we thumped it around enough to make it sick.”

The other nodded and clapped his hands once. “Good.”

The rummaging orc took a palm-sized metal case out of the bag and handed it to the sitting orc. As the sitting orc opened the case and indicated for the crouching one to kneel in front of him, Lindir realised that they were repainting the fading, but still visible mark of the red eye on their black faces. He suddenly smiled, reminded in their actions of the sociable hair combing and braiding engaged in by elven warriors out on travelling trips.

~*~

“So,” Ecthelion said, as a platter of dried fruit, dried meats, nuts, and cheese arrived before them to close off their meal with a fattening flourish, “what are you going to do now?”

Glorfindel found the inquiry so preposterously all encompassing that he actually snickered slightly immediately after hearing it. Then, as his chuckles dwindled to a satirical smile and the raised eyebrow above Ecthelion’s amused smile registered, he said, “I am sorry, but was that a question?”

“It was indeed.”

Glorfindel sighed and reached out to pluck up a sliver of sausage between a thumb and forefinger. “I do not know,” he said as he brought it to his nose, sniffed it for a bit, and then popped it into his mouth. “I am going to be sick after this meal, you realise?”

“You already look like one whose mouth is so well acquainted with the throne of the backside for reasons apart from gluttony that I hardly think that comment carries any rebuke towards my taste in dishes.”

“Do I really look that bad? No one has mentioned it to me until now.”

Ecthelion nodded as he slid the blade of the cheese knife through the butter-coloured mass in front of him. “I am surprised. You look terrible to me.”

“Perhaps it is because I have not seen many people today.”

“Perhaps.” Ecthelion pursed his lips. “Go and see a healer afterwards. One of your father’s?” On seeing Glorfindel’s lip curl immediately in response, he added, with a shrug, “or Elrond. Can you reach him?” He popped the slice into his mouth.

“Nay.”

“Well…” Ecthelion paused for a few moments as he chewed and then swallowed. “Well, well, I will find someone to…”

“Ecthelion, I do not wish to see anyone. I am currently already too smothered with intruding strangers.”

“Aye, but Glorfindel, they will only intrude for a few moments.”

“Ecthelion, nay. What I need is some calm. If I could see an end to all these concerns of mine – if they could, by some miraculous means, simply disappear, then I think I would be happier. Nay, I am certain I would be happier.”

Ecthelion’s eyebrow rose again. “Well, I am sure Ingwë has some sedatives stocked somewhere close. I could dose you up and wake you up when Lindir is out and Sauron’s trial has ended. That might be a fair number of years from now, though. You may never have to sleep ever again; you will be running such a high capital on sleep.”

“Now that was definitely a jest. And that was also unfunny.”

“I agree. The last thing you need right now is to be vulnerable to nurses in want of a fling with the famous Glorfindel regardless of his state of consciousness.”

Incredulous and amused, Glorfindel shook his head at Ecthelion’s smug smile. “Ecthelion, I think it is you, not I, who is in need of a healer.”

“Spoken like a true member of the sick,” Ecthelion replied. “So. Jests aside, allow me to repeat my original question: what are you going to do now?”

“I already made my response – I do not know.”

“Very well. What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you wish to return to the summit and attend more sessions of the court?” He nodded when Glorfindel’s face twitched slightly, the nose wrinkling momentarily. “I see. Well, do you wish to spend time with Lindir? Whether up there or down here?”

“I do not know.”

“You do not know?”

“Aye.”

“I do not understand. Explain it to me.”

“Well… I-I have a responsibility to stay with him at this time.”  
Ecthelion frowned. “In spite of the fact that he does not wish to speak truthfully to you, he has five children attending to him in addition to the Maia Silmo, he has knowingly misled you about his past and his feelings for you ever since you met him, and you do not wish to attend any court sessions because they pain you? Pray tell me, how are you helping him – right now – by lunching with me in Ingwë’s halls?”

“Well…”

“That he does not wish to speak to you seems to tell me that he does not desire your support at this time.”

“That is true, but I still have a responsibility.”

“To him?”  
“Aye, of course! He is my spouse!” Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and spread his hands, a frown on his face. “I do not understand what you are insinuating, Ecthelion. Are you suggesting I return to Tirion and abandon him?”

Ecthelion shook his head, his expression weary. “Glorfindel, listen to yourself. You say the word abandon in the context of your abandoning Lindir, but consider it the other way around. From what you have told me, Lindir has already abandoned you, at least temporarily. It is plain to me that this trial is hurting you so why not cast aside concerns of him, at least for a few months, and… oh, why not travel away indeed?”

Glorfindel swallowed. Ecthelion’s words hurt and they hurt all the more for the echo that they carried of his own mother’s already rejected advice. “And what if he does need me?” he asked tightly.

“Well, request Gloredhel or Glingal write to you if he makes such a request to see you.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Ecthelion, it is complicated.”

“Well the fact that your relationship with Lindir is distressing at least one of you is plain enough. Allow me to remind you that it takes one person to destroy a relationship and Glorfindel, you are not the one destroying it and a few months vacation on your part will not destroy it.”

“Hail, Ecthelion, the voice of reason, the voice of cool water on the face,” Glorfindel muttered. “You speak so clearly and argue so well that my mind wills me to disagree with you on principle.”

“That is because you are a stubborn oaf at heart,” Ecthelion said with a smile. “Now take a trip to somewhere far away from this festering place. Perhaps return to Tirion. Or even take the opportunity to challenge yourself by visiting the kinslaying memorial at Alqualondë. I know you have not visited it yet. You should; you know you should.”

Glorfindel smiled then, but it was a tired expression. “Ecthelion, I hardly think confronting one sort of grief with another sort will help to cancel either out. This is not arithmetic and you were always bad at arithmetic anyway.”

“But the advice to travel was sound, was it not?”

“Aye, aye, it was sound, and however reluctant I am to take such excellently put advice, I admit I am drawn to taking it. The idea of a vacation, especially when made on these lands, smells dreadfully of the hunt, the drink, and bawdy jests, but it also hits me hard with nostalgia.”

“That is as it should be. So. What are you going to do?”

Glorfindel hesitated. Then he smiled and reached across the table to stretch out an index finger and poke Ecthelion squarely in the nose. “I will take a vacation and head to the wilder, emptier lands south west of here,” he said as he lowered his arm, “but only if you, my friend, will come with me.”

Ecthelion smiled broadly and lifted his goblet. “Well I must confess that I too am rather sick of this place. Also, it was my intention to follow you wherever you went in the first place. I am, after all, only lingering here at the base of the summit for you, after all.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

The sound of their clinking goblets could not, to Glorfindel’s ears, have ever sounded sweeter.

~*~

Eönwë did not venture his reason for lunching with them until after the meal, during which he was very pleasant and courteous, especially to Linden. Then, after dessert, whilst Linden and Laiglas were speaking something of the plants, he gestured faintly with his fingers for Lindir to follow him. Then he rose and walked back into the halls.

Lindir rose and when Laiglas moved to follow, shook his head at his eldest.

“Do you trust him?” Laiglas asked, a little sharply.

Lindir hesitated, unsure of how to answer truthfully, but not particularly wishing Laiglas to be privy to whatever Eönwë wished to tell him. From the way Eönwë had gestured to him, he had a feeling that Eönwë wished for them to speak alone. Linden, fortunately, came quickly to Eönwë’s defence. “That is hardly a way to speak about our host, brother.”

“Eönwë is still the same Maia who reinfected Lindir and delivered him here without his consent, Linden,” Laiglas replied. “Just because he offered us a comfortable suite of rooms in his halls does not excuse him.”

“He is the voice of Manwë at the trial, Laiglas. What are you suggesting? That we defy the wishes of the ones who keep us alive?”

“You seem to have forgotten that Morgoth was a Vala and our own sire is a Maia,” Laiglas retorted sharply. “Would you dare visit either of them alone and without the Ainur watching over you?”

Lindir cleared his throat. “I wish to see Eönwë alone,” he said when both Laiglas and Linden looked at him. Then, swallowing at Laiglas’s disapproving look, he ducked his head and hurried after Eönwë.

The Maia was waiting for him at the end of the corridor. On seeing him arrive through the door, he gestured, unsmilingly, for him to follow him down another corridor and then, as Lindir hurried after him and breached the corner, up a flight of stairs and through a door. As he climbed up the stairs, Lindir heard a cracking noise behind him and he looked behind to notice that the icy steps were breaking up after him, the stairwell disappearing entirely into the avalanche that was falling, settling out, and then turning into a corridor on the lower level behind him. He hurried quickly through the door, then yelped when Eönwë, who was standing and waiting for him just within, seized his wrist and dragged him over to what Lindir saw was a large bed. His nose met with it moments later when Eönwë, a hand to the back of Lindir’s clothes, shoved him down face first onto the icy sheets and with the other hand, jerked up the back of his robe.

What was going on? Lindir felt his pulse quicken as the chill air kissed his buttocks and the icy sheets rubbed against his genitals as his loincloth was pulled away. Was this yet another examination? Was there something he had missed in his interactions with Eönwë? Why was Eönwë behaving so roughly? Was not the Maia a servant of Manwë? The Maia’s hand returned to reach between his legs and Lindir wriggled his legs open instinctively, his body moving without direct instruction to raise his buttocks and expose his entrance to Eönwë’s cold scrutiny. Whatever Eönwë was doing, it would be over soon, he reminded himself as he felt Eönwë caress his balls and coax his already twitching penis to hardness. The trial would be over soon too. Then everything would be over and he would be free to live his life again.

He told himself to relax, to keep his blushing entrance as relaxed and pliable as possible to make it easier for both of them. It would be an instrument of some sort… something metallic or wooden. Or perhaps Eönwë would insert a finger. Or perhaps, even another of those creatures. Perhaps Eönwë was unaware that he had already been mated and wished to see that the one already inside him was kept alive and happy in its host. Perhaps he was unaware that Silmo had already inserted a new diaphragm into him.

But in the ensuing moments that grew slowly into minutes, nothing happened. He heard no metal or wood clinking and clacking; he heard no baskets rustling… a finger, then. But if so, why then was it taking so long for Eönwë to insert it? He shifted slightly beneath the hand on his back, suddenly uncertain. His penis twitched against the cold sheets. He turned his head to one side and blinked, the eyelashes of the eye nearest the bed rubbing against the sheets. He could see Eönwë standing behind him now – leaning over him – the Maia seemed to be expecting his inquiring look and he now met his gaze expressionlessly.

“What are you going to do?” Lindir asked curiously and a little nervously.

A sick feeling fluttered to meet its grave upon the pit of his stomach when the slack expression in Eönwë’s eyes seemed to melt away before a sudden breeze and the blue eyes chilled to welcome, not consideration – far from it, but a brittle cruelness. The lips thinned and spread appallingly into a wintry smile.

“I am going to enjoy you,” the Maia replied.

Nothing in all of Lindir’s experiences had prepared him – not even the whims of Sauron’s tentacled inventions – for Eönwë’s invasion. Coupled with the violence of Eönwë’s motions, both in breaching his abruptly frightened entrance and then in proceeding to ride him with such ruthlessness that his own hardness, in spite of the entreaties of Eönwë’s hand, cowered back into a shrivelled mass, and he was crying and shivering and choking well before the end. When at last Eönwë was done with him and had pulled out, terrified, he dared not move. His pulse did not seem to be slowing at all. He wanted to look for a door, but he dared not. Although Eönwë had not struck him or done anything akin to Sauron’s kind of cruel touch to prove to Lindir that he had something more to fear aside from further rape, the coldness of those eyes and the unpredictability of the Maia made Lindir distinctly disinclined to test him.

Something landed beside his face. On registering the smell, Lindir opened his eyes and his sobs were halted, not out of relief, but out of disbelief and distress at the sight of the ragged, ruptured remains of the diaphragm. “No,” he whispered, “no.” His voice choked. “Please no.”

“Silmo will come to tend to you,” Eönwë said coldly. Then a cold breeze brushed against the back of Lindir’s legs and when, minutes later, Lindir finally dared to push himself up on his hands and look behind him, through his tears he saw that the Maia had gone.

Chapter 34

Ecthelion’s words – the anticipation of a vacation and the relief that it promised – seemed to have kindled a new fire in his limbs. Glorfindel even surprised himself by the rapidity with which he prepared himself for travel. Messages were hastily written and sent to Linden and Gloredhel. Glorfindel had initially moved to write to Glingal, but then as he recalled what he had overheard of Glingal and Gloredhel’s exchange the previous night and Glingal’s harsh interpretation of the conditions under which Glorfindel had decided to adopt Lindir, his heart swayed and he penned the note instead to the child who had brought about their union and who still hoped for reconciliation.

Ingwë was the first to respond to his messages. The diminutive King arrived unannounced at his bedroom door. Glorfindel looked up at him from where he was sitting at his desk and writing another message to Lindir that he had deliberated for a few moments over whether he should write at all. He had considered simply requesting Silmo convey a message of words, but then, on recalling Silmo’s failure to inform Lindir of Glorfindel’s initial intention to lunch with him on the summit, decided to distrust the Maia’s ability to respect duty over prejudice.

Glorfindel expected Ingwë to begin with words to the effect of praising him for choosing to travel away in accordance with their wishes so he was somewhat surprised when instead, Ingwë began by saying, “Are you fit to travel?”

“What do you mean? I would have thought that you would have been happy that I was travelling away and relieving you of your wife’s favourite subject of reproach,” Glorfindel replied. “Be done with your praise of my sudden conformity and unprecedented display of filial respect and leave me be to travel in peace.”

“You are arrogant to think that you are the current primary concern of any member of this household, Glorfindel. You rarely interact with us. If you were more willing to reward our hospitality with rational dealings with us, you would find our concerns in quite another arena.”

“Such as?” Glorfindel looked back at his unfinished letter to Lindir and wondered if he had used a too distant tone. He looked back at Ingwë.

“It is not easy to host the witnesses of the trial, Glorfindel – to feed them, to house them, and tend them on their approach and then return from the summit.”

“Indeed. I have seen as much with your disdain towards my spouse.”

“I would have thought yesterday’s court session served to relieve you of some of your blindness with regards to your relationship with Lindir.” Ingwë walked over to the open doors of the wardrobe and closed them, stroking the smooth carven wood with a hand as he did so. “You are bonded to an individual who has treated you callously and has cast many of your years since your resurrection from internment in Mandos in shadow. Those years are significant to you, even if you do not fully realise the extent of their significance now. That is why,” he said as he looked back at Glorfindel, who swallowed, “I ask you now if you are fit to travel. Should I summon a healer to look you over briefly?”

Glorfindel hesitated. Then he shook his head, glancing back at his letter as he did so and redeciding that he had used the proper tone, “Nay, but thank you. Ecthelion is to travel with me and he knows the land sufficiently well to be able to quickly summon a healer should I feel in need of one later.”

“I see. That is well, then.”

Glorfindel nodded.

“I will see you in a few months?”

“Aye.”

“Then,” Ingwë stepped forward and reached out to rest a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, “may the stars shine upon your faces.”

“Thank you.”

Ingwë turned to leave. As he reached the door, though, Glorfindel, who had looked down once more at the letter, suddenly looked back at his grandsire. “Ingwë.”

“Aye?”

“If Lindir asks for me or is in need of help, will you help him… or at least write to me to summon me back?”

Ingwë looked back at him. Then he said, “I will do so if I deem the reason of worth.”

 _If I deem the reason of worth._ Glorfindel nodded, grateful at least that it had not been an uncompromising refusal. He inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.”

Ingwë left, but there were voices outside that told Glorfindel that another was waiting to speak to him. It was Gloredhel, who rushed in quickly afterwards, his face a little flushed, his expression anxious.

“You are travelling away?” he asked as he closed the door. In his hand, he held the letter that Glorfindel had recently sent to him. He looked back at Glorfindel.

“Aye. What of it?”

“Well, are you sure you should travel? Now? I mean?” On seeing Glorfindel’s patient expression, he faltered and gestured vaguely in the direction of Mount Taniquetil, visible through the windows. “You are not leaving Lindir, are you?”

“Nay, I am returning in a few months. I made that clear in the letter.”

“Oh. Aye, you did, but I thought that… well…” Gloredhel smiled, obviously relieved. “Then, I suppose it is well.” He fell quiet, then, as if unsure of what to say. Then, just as Glorfindel was about to dismiss him, he added, “I saw Silmo, by the way.”

“Oh? Is he down here? I would like him to deliver letters to Lindir and Linden for me.”

“Ah, nay, he is not here now. He had to leave suddenly. One of Eönwë’s servants came to summon him. They said that Eönwë was in a fearsome state so I imagine something is up. But Lindo is here – I am sure he would be happy to deliver the letters.”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you would ask him. But I thought Lindo was at the summit with his siblings.” Glorfindel noticed Gloredhel stiffen slightly at Glorfindel’s use of the word ‘siblings’ and hastened to correct himself, “I mean, Laiglas and Linden.”

“Ah, nay, Lindo came to sleep here last night.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Has something happened? Is Lindir well?”

Gloredhel nodded. “Oh, aye, Lindir is well, I think. Lindo has not seen him since yesterday at court. Lindo had an argument with Laiglas last night and he does not wish to see him.”

“Why did they argue?”

Gloredhel shrugged. “I am not certain. I believe it has something to do with Lindir’s favouritism for Laiglas.”

“Oh, I would not call it favouritism,” Glorfindel said, “they are fond of one another, but Lindir is also extremely fond of the rest of you.”

Gloredhel’s brows rose and his smile broadened, but his expression was more one of resignation than amusement. “Actually, I think you are wrong, father.” Then he shook his head. “But do not let it worry you. May you have a pleasant journey and I hope to see you in more cheerful spirits in a few months time.” Then, after Glorfindel had thanked him, he turned and left, promising to send Lindo over shortly.

While he waited, Glorfindel finished his letter to Lindir, folded, and then sealed it. Then he rose and set about completing his packing. Ecthelion had told him that if they left around afternoon tea, they would reach a nearby town famed for its cheese in time for supper. Glorfindel had agreed to the proposal, not least because he knew Ecthelion was fond of cheese and would be sorely disappointed if he had said otherwise.

~*~

Whilst he waited for Silmo, Lindir decided, as his lower half was beginning to feel decidedly chilled, to put his loincloth back on and pull down his robe. As he did so, whimpering a little from the soreness in his rear, he noticed on standing and feeling behind him, that there was no blood. He felt mingled surprise, relief, and disgruntlement on seeing its absence for in addition to thinking that the extreme pain of the violation demanded some more substantial proof aside from the soreness, he felt that the very fact of the invasive act required something more with which to justify his feeling of having been grossly mistreated. He scrubbed at his eyes with his wrist.

On looking behind, he noticed an odd dusting of white powder upon the upper slope of his buttocks and he reached behind to brush it away. It was ice, left from the imprint of the other’s sweaty hands, he realised, as he watched the tiny shards drop to the floor where they smashed into tinier pieces. Then he realised that the Maia’s seed, unlike Sauron’s and Glorfindel’s, had also failed to materialise at his entrance with that humiliating dribble. He swallowed as he felt around his bruised entrance and confirmed his initial thought. This was more humiliating – to remember Eönwë’s seed entering him at the Maia’s climax and to know that it still claimed him – all of it.

His loincloth lay in a crumpled heap upon the floor. He picked it up, shook it out, and then struggled with fumbling, numb hands to do up the ties. Then he pulled down his robe and looked around.

Besides the bed, which was an imposing piece made of wood and stone lined with sheets of blue hemmed with gold, there was nothing. No other furniture, no windows, not even a door interrupted the sheer ice walls and high ceiling. Even the door behind him through which he had entered the room seemed to have disappeared. He lifted up the skirt that covered the base of the bed. The ice floor, clear of marks or imprint, stared back at him relentlessly.

He choked and wiped against his eyes, which had begun to tear anew. What was going on? Did not Eönwë work for Manwë? Why would Eönwë do this? Was he under instruction? Was he mad? Lindir could make no sense of it at all. He tottered over to where he thought the door through which he had come lay and felt it hesitantly, wincing and drawing back his hands when he felt the bitterly cold ice bite his fingers. He knocked. “Please,” he said, sniffling. “Please, I want to go. Let me go. Lord Eönwë.”

The room was growing even colder. On receiving no response – indeed, he could not even hear a sound from outside the room, he finally gave up and, reluctant to return to the bed, slowly – painfully – sat down on the floor and wrapped his arms around himself. When, some time later, he finally smelt the scent of linden blossoms in the air and felt the chill in the air melt a little, he thought he could never be happier to see the Maia Silmo.

~*~

The rest of the journey to Mordor went uneventfully. Rána did not talk much to him, but then neither did Lindir to him, but there was sound reason for this for as the days wore away and the tediousness of the travel caught up on their already weakened and scrawny bodies, they increasingly spent more of the day asleep and more of the night struggling to keep up.

They were not alone in this. Although none of the healthier-looking, albeit insensible elves ahead of them seemed affected by the pace, Halmir, who had been returned to his comrades a week after being recaptured, also seemed to be struggling. Lindir sometimes looked sidelong at Rána whenever he heard the orcs shouting and the sound of whips cracking in the vicinity of Halmir ahead and Rána usually met his eye, but they spoke no more about the other elf. There was not much to speak of anyway. When Lindir saw Halmir one morning as they were settling down to rest, he was dismayed to see the elf’s ashen face and haunted eyes atop the skeletal frame.

A month later, they arrived at the North Gate. Mordor had looked different then, much different from how it looked in the paintings by those who came and saw it at the Battle of Dagorlad. It had looked different again, much later, when Elessar took those warriors to divert Sauron’s attention long enough to gain Frodo the opportunity to cast the ring into Mount Doom.

Oh, there had still been no trees, no plants, nothing to suggest that anything lived in the lands long-term when Lindir first saw the region nestled behind those unscaleable mountains. The clouds too had been thick. But at that time, there had been fewer roads and the earth was still thick – not yet the powdery dust and stone to which it would turn over the years under the heavy shoes of countless of orc soldiers and trolls and men and unnameables that would stamp it and kick it and grind it and pound it. There were fewer mines too – fewer of those gaping, glowering wounds in the ground, teeming with black bodies that could flood out like ants from a disturbed hill at the slightest warning.

The air too was less thick, less clogged with filth. Later, much later, though how much later Lindir did not know as he lost all track of time after his arrival in this land of permanent cloud and blindness from starlight and sunlight, he would come out and his lungs would heave and when he blew his nose or spat what would come out would be black. Those who went out of the tower in Mordor became black, regardless of their initial colour, and when they came back in they all looked like men of Harad or orcs. Only their language and armour and, when Sauron was around, their accents as they spoke the Black Speech, told of their true origins.

Barad-dûr looked different too. Sauron had reduced the number of towers on rebuilding it after it was levelled to its foundations at the end of the Second Age, but nothing had changed about its scale. The sheer vastness of it – why, it was monstrous! The highest reaches of its crowning tower seemed to touch the clouds, surpass them even on some days. As they neared it, Lindir kept on mistaking it for a building nearer to him, but instead, it seemed beyond logic, but it simply grew larger and larger and larger until it rose, surreal, a creation blacker than its own shadow, before him and he felt sick to the stomach even to crane his head up and look at it. But perhaps that sick feeling was partly due to the stench of brimstone too, for Lindir had felt far from sick from looking at Mount Taniquetil, which was taller.

They went inside, under a gate that seemed to be the main from its size, and yet which also, in the shadow of the mammoth into which it was carved, insignificant too. And then, at last, they were inside and the party was splitting up and Lindir and Rána were reunited with the other elves and they were all led together down many, many stairs and back into the blackness. There, blind, they were separated again and Lindir was separated once again from Rána and locked away in a cell. As the door closed upon him, all fell quiet and he was, once again, left all alone.

~*~

Ecthelion was already coming up the road with the horses when Glorfindel exited Ingwë’s halls about an hour before teatime. He had intended to take a walk and linger awhile, harbouring a thought that perhaps Lindir would, on receipt of his letter, write a hurried reply whose nature would change his plans entirely. Perhaps Lindir would think that his letter hinted at rejection and, panicked, would write to him and tell him that they needed to talk – something which they undoubtedly needed to do. But the sight of Ecthelion standing there and patting the horses roused that fire within him to tall heights once more and filled with a sudden blitheness, or at least a lust to claim that feeling, he smiled broadly and called out, “Ai, Ecthelion! Early, I see! Should we leave early too?”

“I am happy to do so,” Ecthelion called back, and he brought the horses round to the bottom of the steps. “Are you ready to leave? Is your spouse unthreatened by the suggestion of his beloved husband setting off alone with dashing Ecthelion and his seductive flute?”

Glorfindel laughed, but more because it was correct to do so socially, than because he actually found it funny, especially now. He knew Lindir would not even raise an eyebrow on hearing innuendo in association with Glorfindel normally, though Glorfindel had always liked to tell himself that a quiet jealousy simmered behind Lindir’s attentive brown eyes whenever it had happened in the past. “Let us elope before he finds out,” he jested. “But I daresay he already knows for the mountain has many eyes.”

“But you have told him?” Ecthelion said, suddenly serious.

Glorfindel nodded and smiling, they mounted their horses, turned the beasts around, and rode away, leaving the imposing shadow of the mountain to dwindle in size behind them.

~*~

Silmo seemed to have been briefed on what had happened as he did not attempt to examine Lindir and instead, on kneeling down beside him and stroking his arm, gently accepted Lindir’s responding and sudden tearful hug.

“I want to leave,” Lindir told him. “I want to leave and see Glorfindel.”

Silmo, in response, squeezed him harder and stroked the back of his head.

“Glorfindel or-or Sauron,” Lindir choked. “I want to see one of them.”

“Hush.”

“Silmo, take me back now. Please.”

“Lindir, I cannot.”

Lindir fell silent, then. Silmo’s response, Silmo’s allusion to being under instruction by a higher power effectively confirmed his suspicions that Eönwë was obeying the same master. He pulled back slightly and turned his head to look not at Silmo’s youthful face, surrounded by playful locks, but back at the barren ice. He gave a choked little laugh.

“So what is to happen to me?” he asked, looking back at Silmo, who he saw then looked truly contrite. “Am I a prisoner here now?”

“Eönwë is to take care of you now,” Silmo told him. “I am sorry, Lindir. I am truly sorry. I will return to act as your medium tomorrow, but apart from that I am no longer to work with you.”

“By whose order?”

Silmo shook his head slightly. “By the judges. They deliberated over your case this morning and they decided that based on the evidence you have presented at court so far, that I am the wrong person to care for you and the room in which you have lived with me until now is the wrong environment.”

“And Eönwë – and this-this place – is?” Lindir choked as he spread a hand out and gestured at the room.

“I am sorry, Lindir.”

“And what of Eönwë’s treatment of me? Do you know what he did to me?”

Silmo’s lips twitched, with discomfort. “I know what he did to you,” he said. He exhaled and then swallowed. “I do not know why he did it. He would not tell me. I can only think that it must have caused both of you great distress.”

“Not him!” Lindir choked. “He said he was going to enjoy me.”

“But he must have apologised?” When Lindir shook his head, Silmo was silent for a while.

“I see,” he said. “But Lindir, understand that Eönwë is noble at heart, but that sometimes, because of his duty to his master, he must do terrible – truly terrible things.”

Lindir just shook his head.

“Besides, you have been raped before, have you not? I know that it does not excuse his behaviour, but you are familiar with such a cruelty, are you not?”

Lindir searched what he had recalled of his memories so far. Then he shook his head. “It was not like that,” he said slowly. “When Sauron said ‘aye’, then it was not – not rape. Not like this, anyway. And I only saw the ones to whom he had said ‘aye’.”

Silmo exhaled. Then he turned his head and looked around the room. “I will remain with you until he returns.”  
“What if he does not return?” Lindir did not relish the idea of being the subject of that cold, scornful gaze again, much less its touch, and rather thought not seeing Eönwë ever again was perhaps a good thing.

“Oh, he will come back,” Silmo said. “This is his bedroom.”

On seeing Lindir’s subsequent distressed look, Silmo added, “I doubt he will sleep here whilst you are here, though. He probably simply required a secure room in which to place you, and his own rooms are the only ones over which he has complete control of who enters and exists. Not even I may enter this room without his consent.”

“So I _am_ a prisoner,” Lindir said. “And a jaded one too, for there is nothing in this barren room – you call this a bedroom? – with which I may occupy myself. There is not even a bathroom!”

Silmo leaned forward and kissed his brow. “Perhaps he wishes for you to occupy yourself with yourself,” he said as he leaned back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your memories,” Silmo said. “Come, lean on me when the wall becomes too cold for you and rest with your thoughts awhile.”

Lindir did so, but he found Silmo’s small body too insubstantial to be a real comfort and his memories far away. Visions of Rána and the forest floor seemed trifling now. Slowly, his eyes unfocused. “I want to see Laiglas,” he mumbled as he fell asleep and drifted into a fitful slumber.

Chapter 35

Glorfindel realised, as their horses neared the top of the rise that encircled the kingdom of the Vanyar and the tall mountain that rose to impossible heights in the midst of it, that in his haste, he had forgotten something rather important. He slowed his horse and, after carefully surveying the misty, nighttime landscape that lay before them to the south-west and the imposing rolls of threatening clouds ahead, turned his head and looked back.

The sweet scented valley, decked in a sea of blossoms – most of them yellow, waved back at him in the breeze.

He looked back at the road ahead and winced a little when he saw a swift wind suddenly whip across the damp meadow not four hundred feet from where he sat upon his blinking ride, thrashing the few trees and sizable bushes before it. He looked at Ecthelion, who was slowly leaving him behind, still unaware that Glorfindel had halted. The other elf had already pierced the palpable blockade in the air that separated the unnatural spring of Mount Taniquetil and the trial from the winter that held the larger part of Valinor in its icy grasp.

“Ecthelion!” he called then.

“Aye?” The other’s voice was faint.

Glorfindel hesitated. Then he ventured, “It looks like rain!”

Ecthelion’s reply was amused. “It was forecast rain too!”

 _Of course. It is winter!_ Glorfindel thought to himself, feeling incredibly stupid. __

_“Did you forget?” Ecthelion added cheerfully, finally stopping his horse and turning to look back at him. Glorfindel felt his eyes narrow at the provocation._

_“Sunny lands lie behind us,” he retorted. “What elf in his right mind would refuse to bask in it?”_

_Ecthelion just shrugged and turned away, apparently unwilling to come up with the obvious response. Instead, he reached into one of his saddlebags and drew out a lantern, which flickered bright and silver in the night._

_Glorfindel huffed and urged his horse onwards with a few curt words. “You are cruel, Ecthelion!” he called. “No wonder your lady is so eager to indulge your long absences from her side!”_

_Ecthelion made no response and fancying his dignity retained, Glorfindel hurried his horse onwards into the gathering storm and back to Ecthelion’s side, gathering his cloak closer about his neck as he did so in an attempt to keep out the prying fingers of the wind. Moments later, it began to rain. Glorfindel cursed under his breath._

__

~*~

Lindir awoke to the sound of voices. In his revelrie, Silmo had shut his eyes and so on waking and finding himself tucked into Eonwe’s bed, he was rather disoriented and somewhat alarmed. He sat up, wincing slightly, and, when a warm hand reached over to touch his arm, looked at Silmo who was sitting on the side of the bed.

“Eonwe is here,” he said, “and now it is time for me to leave.” Then he withdrew his hand and straightened to look at Eonwe, who was standing behind him and near the wall. He bowed to Eonwe and then, on straightening, said, “With your permission, I will come by tomorrow an hour before Lindir is due to attend court.”

Eonwe nodded faintly and Silmo, with a quick glance back behind him at Lindir and an apologetic twitch of his lips, melted away along with the little warmth that he had brought with him. Lindir felt his shoulders crumple a little.

Lindir glanced at Eonwe, who was looking at him without expression and then quickly lowered his eyes as he felt tears prick them. He wished to ask if there was a bathroom somewhere, but he could not bring himself to open his mouth and ask. He shivered, and then blinked when he felt the air suddenly warm, as if in response to his movement. He swallowed and glanced quickly in the direction of Eonwe, not quite managing to bring his eyes to meet the other’s face, but managing the other’s middle.

“Thank yo…” he began. Eonwe cut him off.

“Let me make some things clear to you,” the Maia said icily. “As Silmo has already explained, you are now in my care.” He turned and strode forward to cross the room and as he did so, on hearing the startling and near deafening sound of cracking ice, Lindir lifted his head to observe Eonwe gesturing gently at the walls and causing them to crumble down to draw level and then solidify at the level of the floor.

Behind the walls, there was nothing except walls that stood much, much further away. Lindir looked at the barren space trapped between the windowless walls. The now enormous room seemed to extend for a good portion of the area of what he recalled of Eonwe’s abode.

But as he watched and Eonwe, after a moment’s pause, resumed gesturing, he saw, at blissful last, some relief from the endless ice by way of first one, then two, then three doors revealed in the wall.

“Kitchen, laundry, bathroom,” Eonwe said sharply. “Do you know how to cook?” Before Lindir could respond to the negative, Eonwe said, coldly and contemptuously, as if he had read Lindir’s mind, “Teach yourself.”

He continued, “In the laundry you will find a tall ladder, a bucket, a mop, and a broom. I expect you to clean the floor, the walls, and the ceiling of this room every day.”

“Am I…”

“Nay,” Eonwe interrupted him, his voice scornful at the very suggestion of what Lindir had thought to ask him. He turned his head to stare coldly at him. “You are not a slave or servant. But you will do it because if you do not, I will punish you.”

He looked away and gestured at a new door that was forming in the ice. “This door leads out of this room.” Another gesture and the door ceased its formation and melted back into nothingness. Eonwe looked back at Lindir. “You will receive no guests,” he said quietly.

“Laiglas…”

Eonwe cut him off once more. “No Laiglas, no Lindo, none of your offspring… Neither your relatives nor your lover Glorfindel.”

“Spouse, he is…”

“ _Lover_. You will receive no letters,” Eonwe said, his voice loudening. Lindir blinked back confused tears.

“Why did…”

Eonwe did not choose to respond to Lindir’s thoughts and hesitantly begun and also hesitantly dropped question this time. Instead he continued, “The only contact that you will receive is with Silmo, I, and my guests, when I deem it worthy for them to see you.”

Emboldened, Lindir tried again, a little louder, “Why did you…”

“When the light that illuminates the ice from behind fades, it is night and I expect you to sleep,” Eonwe carried on sharply, interrupting him again. “Tomorrow morning, Silmo will come to see you.”

“Why did you sleep with me?”

Eonwe stilled then and turned his head to look back at him. Lindir swallowed at the hatred in the other’s eyes. “Why? Would you like me to do it again?” the Maia asked softly.

Lindir shook his head and lowered his eyes.

“A wise decision.” Then Eonwe faded away and Lindir was once again left alone.

~*~

The rain had been relentless and by the time they reached the village a few hours after their departure from Ingwe’s halls, both Ecthelion and Glorfindel were soaked to the skin. As they drew under the eaves of the travelling inn, Glorfindel reached up to push, for what he hoped would be the last time before long, his hair out of his eyes. Then he dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to the waiting stablehand, and marched into the inn, tearing at the ties of his sodden cloak as he did so. Ecthelion followed close behind.

Save for the bartender and a single assistant who was washing the tables, the inn seemed to be empty, but Glorfindel, as he followed Ecthelion to a room where they might wash and – more importantly – dry themselves, happened to look out of a window. He stopped and frowned on seeing the multitude of horses and carts crammed into the stables adjoined to the inn. _Strange, considering the weather,_ he thought and he mentioned this to Ecthelion who, after looking out of the window, agreed with him.

“Perhaps there is a function underway in the parlour,” the elf suggested, and then gestured at the many open doors in the corridor that led into empty and assumedly unoccupied rooms. “Certainly, it does not look as if many others are intending to sleep here tonight; those parked in the stables must be locals from this region.”

They decided to pay the oddity no further attention until after their baths after which, fully refreshed and now dressed in clean, dry clothes, they descended back to the inn to order their meals.

The bartender, who seemed to have recognised Ecthelion, looked apologetic. “Certainly, your lordships, but I fear you shall have to sup either in your rooms or in this room tonight, for the locals have hold of the parlour tonight.”

“Why? What are they doing?” Glorfindel asked curiously. He glanced at the curtains drawn over the closed doors to the parlour.

“Oh, they are harking to the words of a travelling storyteller,” the bartender said. Glorfindel noticed him glance at the emblem of the House of Turgon on Ecthelion’s tunic before returning his gaze to their faces and smiling at them. “It should be over soon. Then most of them will leave and head back to their farms.”

“I see,” Ecthelion said, “then we shall dine here.”

Not long after they received their meals and were beginning to tuck into the creamy dishes (ordered by Ecthelion who seemed intent on indulging himself with the local famed cheese with every course), the doors opened and the bartender’s assistant hurried forward to tie back the curtains.

Glorfindel, who was better positioned to observe the locals’ exit, was rather surprised when, instead of seeing a sea of exclusively white-skinned and hardy looking elven families exiting the parlour, saw instead a rather motley bunch of white, tanned, brown, and even black skinned adult elves wandering out and chattering in a multitude of languages, most of which Glorfindel did not recognise at all, much less was able to interpret. He nudged Ecthelion under the table and Ecthelion, who had been oblivious to the locals until now, looked around.

“Oh,” he said, and then after observing a brown-skinned couple make their way over to the bar and order drinks from the bartender who didn’t even blink at their sudden switch from an obscure language to a strangely accented version of Quenya for the purpose, looked back at him. “You have never been this far west before, then, I see.”

“What do you mean? Are they even elves?”

Ecthelion smiled solicitously. “Of course. Their ancestors are mentioned in the earliest of stories of the elves before our ancestors came to Valinor. Unfortunately, any references to the colour of their skin was removed from subsequent translations of stories from Primitive Quendian and then in turn from Common Eldarin and Quenya. They are members of the Avari, those who did not listen to the summons of the Valar and instead chose to reside on the lands far east and south of Middle-earth.”

“So they are resurrected elves?”

“And their descendants,” Ecthelion said. He smiled over Glorfindel’s shoulder at someone and Glorfindel turned to see a white-skinned elf nod at them before signalling that he was leaving and heading out of the front door.

Glorfindel considered what Ecthelion had told him for a bit. Then he said, “But Ecthelion, why have I never seen any of these elves in the cities or indeed on my return from Mandos in The Third Age?”

“It was decided sometime in the Second Age that the Coloureds, as we city-folk call them, are to live in specially zoned areas.”

“Why?”

Ecthelion shrugged, indicating that he either did not know or did not wish to talk about it, and turned back to his meal. Unsatisfied, Glorfindel looked back at the elves mingling in the bar, chattering to each other in their own languages. Suddenly he wondered, as he had wondered vaguely a few times before, to where the orcs who were not wont to sicken like the Secondborn, went after their resurrection.

He looked back at the couple at the bar, who were talking between themselves, but not smiling as if what they were talking about was of some concern. Then, suddenly, a white-skinned fellow with black hair, carrying a saddlebag and dressed in a luxurious white cloak, his skin as pale as Glorfindel himself, exited the parlour with the bartender’s assistant. The couple’s serious faces melted into the most blinding of smiles and they rose to speak to him. Glorfindel looked at the white-skinned elf and wondered, from observing the couple and assistant’s reverential behaviour towards him, if he was the speaker. He was about to rise to ask, but the white elf, after exchanging only the briefest and most hurried of words with the couple in Quenya, hastened out of the bar, his head down.

Glorfindel frowned. He looked back at Ecthelion and opened his mouth, but then, on seeing the relish with which Ecthelion was still digging into his meal, closed it and instead pocketed away the comment as the thought, _You know, Ecthelion. For a storyteller, there were very children in that parlour._ Then he shook his head to himself and turned his attention back to his meal.

~*~

After a while, Lindir rose and wandered over to investigate the three doors inset in the far wall. They contained, as Eonwe had said, a bathroom, laundry, and a kitchen. After looking awhile at the kitchen and the rafters of ice bearing heavy bags of onions, links of sausages, and pots and pans, he returned to the laundry and looked at the ladder standing and leaning against the wall beside a ready pail of water, a mop, and a broom.

He looked back at the bedroom floor. It looked white and frosted and free of any dirt. Lindir wondered why Eonwe thought it might need cleaning and, suddenly thinking that there might be something behind the rule – indeed, hoping that there was something behind it – walked into the laundry, picked up the pail and the mop and the broom, and carried them into the bedroom. He set himself up in a corner and began to sweep.

Some of the frosting broke off under the heavy bristles, but apart from a general smoothing of the surface, consequentially making it a little more slippery, he could see nothing different about it. He dipped the mop in the bucket, wetted it, and then set about mopping the same area.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!” he gasped then, and he could have dropped the mop when beneath the wet marks on the floor he saw the floor seem to melt away until the ice was as thin and as transparent as glass. Beneath him, he could see not Eonwe’s house, but what seemed to be… nay, it could not be! His hands tightened on the mop and he set about wetting a larger area of the corner and then moving the mop up the walls as well. Oh Valar, it was, it was!

He stared down at the figures moving silently below, their mouths opening and shutting, but Lindir unable to hear any words, though he could guess at what they were saying from what he recalled from his memories. For the figures there were the orcs and Rana, and Halmir, and him, and many others, and they were being herded into cells at the base of Barad-dur.

“Nay, nay,” he told himself then, “think of something else! Think of something else!” And so he thought of Sauron and his mouth dropped open when then he saw the stone cells of Barad-dur directly beneath the floor fade and instead he was looking down at Sauron’s room on Taniquetil.

Sauron was standing in his rooms – his prison – and talking to a person who Lindir did not recognise, someone who seemed to sense Lindir as he glanced up and briefly met Lindir’s eye before turning back to Sauron. Lindir, on seeing that Sauron seemed, unusually, to be paying attention to his company, wondered at the identity of the fellow.

He was dark skinned and was clad in white. His eyes seemed to glow with their own fire and Lindir wondered if he was a Vala. Then, all of a sudden, the stranger looked up once more and Lindir hissed and shut his eyes tightly when he felt a twinge of pain in his head. On opening his eyes, the vision had gone.

 _So,_ he thought to himself, _I am able to see things both past and present. Why would Eonwe let me_

Chapter 36

Eönwë did not come to see him the following day. He did not come the day after that day. Nor the day after that. It seemed that ever since Lindir’s refusal to cooperate with Eönwë at court, the court had decided to reject him.

Although initially pleased to not be called to continue recalling his memories for the perusal of the judges and what seemed to be the general public of both elves and Ainur, after the first day on his own in that silent, cold, and locked away room, he started to wonder. Had they forgotten about him? Did they no longer need him? Was Eönwë refusing to release him for some reason? What was going on outside the walls of the bedroom?

After the second day, he became rather worried. Although his twice-daily drink arrived without fail, nothing else arrived. He felt lonely and cold and although he felt as if his body was being well fed from the drink, his stomach felt unsatisfied.

In addition, something else that was even stranger was going on. For some reason, his body always felt sore and weak in the morning and he never seemed to need to milk himself or relieve his bladder after waking. He always slept badly at night; bad dreams plagued him. It was most peculiar and discomforting, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no one he could ask. There was… nothing.

The days turned into weeks. Lindir counted each day and painstakingly put it to memory. He dared not try to etch in notches on the icy walls. One week swept by, then two, then three, then four, then five… It had to be spring now beyond the valley surrounding Mount Taniquetil. He hoped it looked beautiful. He wished he were there to see it.

He wondered what Glorfindel was doing and wondered if he were thinking about him. He wondered if Glorfindel were still in Ingwë’s halls. He wondered why they did not seem to need him in court. He wondered and wondered and wondered. And then, one night on the sixth week, in the middle of yet another bad dream, he suddenly woke up.

He had been dreaming about Eönwë. Dreaming a cruel dream, that if it had indeed come from the bottom of his subconscious, was surely a product of fantasy born from his craziest fears. Eönwë was sitting in a vast hall of ice, at the head of a long thin table. All along each side of the table stood high chairs – baby chairs – and in each chair sat a fat, pale-faced toddler, each kicking at the legs of their chairs and tossing the raw bloody pieces of flesh on their plates around the room with their spoons. They were grotesque babies, their bloated hands mottled with cold, their eyes as blue and cold as Eönwë’s, their elven ears ending in a tip as sharp as the icicles that descended from the high ceiling.

Lindir sat in a corner on a low stool. He felt sick and swollen. Aroused too. Something cold and hard was twitching inside his entrance from below, from the seat of the stool. Alarmed, considerably confused, and frustrated, he looked down. Horror froze him; he was unable to scream, so speechless was he with the sight that confronted him.

His belly was open – cut clean open from ribs to past his navel. The front was missing entirely – he could see his ribs, his stomach, his liver… his intestines bulging and pushing and coiling outwards, over his swollen thighs, the veins rippling across them dark with he knew not. Behind them, he saw something else… something else that was even more terrifying. Something that was moving: something huge and red and swollen, that was bruising even as he looked upon it. He gasped in pain as he felt the organ rupture.

“Child-bearing was never supposed to be painless,” Eönwë said suddenly. Lindir looked at him through tearing eyes. The Maia was not looking at him, but to the toddlers lining the sides of the table. But the toddlers were looking at him. They were looking at him and nodding sagely in agreement with Eönwë’s words.

“Do not…” Lindir croaked out. “Do not listen to him.”

The toddlers blinked at him, incomprehension in their eyes. But then, suddenly, their small faces burst into delight as, to Lindir’s horror, a new toddler crawled, impossibly large, impossibly obese, out of his stomach and onto the smooth, icy floor. The blood did not seem to stick to the newborn… the _thing_ , but instead puddled swiftly to the floor. It climbed up the ladder beside an empty high chair, took a spot at the table, cut off his umbilical cord and placenta with the knife beside his plate, and placed them on his plate.

“Ah,” Eönwë said, beaming at the newborn. “Welcome, my son. Boys, welcome our newest member.”

“Welcome, brother,” chorused the other toddlers.

“But I see there are still a few seats empty,” said Eönwë. He looked at Lindir then, and nodded curtly in his direction.

Lindir cried out in pain when he felt his body shudder as the erection pinioning him suddenly ejaculated. More icy cold semen entered him. On looking down, whimpering with pain, he saw to his amazement and terror that another uterus had formed and it was rapidly swelling, swelling to such a fullness that soon it burst like the first and another toddler crawled out.

“Eönwë,” he pleaded, crying. But Eönwë and the toddlers ignored him. Instead, after joyfully greeting the new arrival, they began to sing a strange song about blizzards.

“Eönwë, Eönwë, please!” Lindir sobbed as he felt the semen enter him again and his uterus again begin to swell.

Eönwë suddenly turned his head and looked at him. “Lindir, Lindir, shut up!” he said mockingly. “Lindir, Lindir… Lindir, Lindir…”

And that was how Lindir woke, tears pricking his eyes.

He was lying on his back on Eönwë’s bed. Beyond the ceiling and walls of ice, it was dark.

The first thing that he noticed, beside the fact that the coverlets and his clothes were missing and that he was cold, was that he could hear a voice speaking near the foot of the bed… a voice that he did not recognise.

He frowned and sought to raise himself, then immediately shrunk back when upon doing so, he saw three tall forms standing close together on the other side of the room over a table. On the table were piled ancient parchments, vaguely familiar to his eyes. Beside them, a single tall lantern stood emitting a very bright white light, which illuminated the room from within.

He recognised none of them, though he vaguely recognised the clothing of one. The one clad in white and blue with the cold blue eyes had to be a servant of Manwë. As for the one in black and the other in brown, he knew not, but assumed they were also Maian; their eyes were too deep, their aura too unreachable to be elven.

They seemed to not to be speaking, but to be waiting for someone, for they made no communicative motions with their hands or with their mouths. But then, as Lindir studied them closer, the linguist in him saw how they each looked at each other and how their eyes were immeasurably deep with meaning.

Perhaps then they _were_ communicating to each other. Communicating in a tongue too deep, too unnatural to his elvish senses, for him to understand.

The black-clad one suddenly turned then and saw him observing them. His slack face did not change in expression, but Lindir could feel that he was displeased. He swallowed.

“Who are you?” he ventured nervously, his voice the quietest of tentative whispers. Then, when none of them responded, but both Manwë’s servant and the brown-clad one also turned their heads to look at him, he looked around the deserted room pointedly. “Where are my clothes?”

The brown-clad one stirred and then, after glancing at his peers, came over to the bed and sat down beside him. Lindir shrunk back slightly, though he felt no animosity towards him by the Maia. He shivered when the other reached out and grasped his neck gently to probe fingers against his arteries and feel his pulse.

Whatever he felt, it seemed to break his composure and at last, his expressionless face fell into one of concern. “Are you are awake?” he asked him then in High Elven as he released him. His voice was soft, but authoritative. It vaguely reminded Lindir of Sauron’s voice – so impressive despite its mild volume. The accents were similar as well.

Lindir nodded. “Aye,” he breathed. “What is going on?”

The Maia looked back at his fellows, whose faces flickered with mingled displeasure and reluctance, then back at him. “We are continuing an experiment for which, it would seem, seeing as you have woken up, Lord Irmo has withdrawn his support.”

“An experiment?” Lindir swallowed. “On whom?” But he already knew the answer.

“On you,” the Maia replied. Anticipating Lindir’s subsequent question, he added, “We are seeking a way to reverse the damage inflicted by the parasite inside you.”

 _Which one?_ was Lindir’s immediate thought. Then, as he considered the others words further, he grew more confused, “But I am pregnant,” he said. “Pregnant with Lord Eönwë’s child. Would it not threaten the child if you removed the parasite now?”

The other looked at him intently for a few moments. Then he looked back at his colleagues. Then he looked back at Lindir. “We have no intention of removing the parasite until after your child is born,” he said quietly. Then he reached out again and gently grasped Lindir’s arm. Squeezing it, he said, “I know you are confused, but even so, try to relax for your own sake.” Then, without waiting for a response, he rose and returned to the side of his companions.

Lindir waited for awhile, but nothing seemed to be happening. Finally, tired and troubled by an ache in his back, he lay down.

He wondered what to do. He knew he would not be able to sleep now. He was too cold, anyway, and the threat of another cruel dream terrified him. Sighing, he said, “May I see Glorfindel?”

There was no response. He sighed again. Then he sat up. “For whom are you waiting?”

They looked at him. Then they looked away.

Lindir sighed and lay back down. He wished he were back in Tirion. He wished he had never come to Valinor. He wished Sauron had devoured him in wolf-form back in that cell in Barad-dur.

Why him? Why choose him as a subject on which to conduct experiments? Why not choose an elf that was born to these unnatural pregnancies? Why not choose someone of his sons’ nature; why not choose a boy who had never known what it was to be male? 

_Perhaps they need a subject who was originally male,_ he thought then. Then he thought, _If only I had been born female._ Then immediately he refuted that thought, thinking, _Nay, if I had been born female, I would never have aroused Glorfindel’s interest and I do love Glorfindel, however much I love Sauron too._

 _It is not as if I am being horribly tortured,_ he thought then. _I know elves who have endured much, much worse than I._

 _Halmir. Iestir. Erelin. Rumil – such a popular name, Galdor – another popular name, Derufin, Galvorn, Faramir, Niphredil – such an effeminate name…_ He raised his right arm and folded it over his eyes, blocking out the light. Then he sighed. He should have done more back then. Where had his conscience been? He should have done something… something to stop those experiments. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

~*~

The cell to which Sauron took him in the tower was rectangular and made of black stone. As with his cell in the bowels of the building, when the door was shut and the food flap closed, all noise was blocked out.

There had been a bed in there: a low, firm mattress supplemented with a deep pillow and soft blankets. Nothing more, nothing less, but he needed nothing more.

On the wall hung a lantern. From its depths shone a steady blue light. It recalled back to Lindir tales of Gwindor’s escape from Morgoth’s mines in Beleriand and the elf’s recollection of those blue lamps that the Vala had forced the elves to make for him. What they were made of, he knew not. Few thralls escaped. Even fewer escaped to tell their tales.

Beside the bed stood a low table. Lindir would dine on it in his early times in the cell, mimicking normal Noldorin dining fashion by sitting cross-legged upon his bed and pulling the table, which would bear his meals of porridge and stew and bread, close to him.

When Sauron first brought him to the cell, they had made love; they had made bestial love. Lindir could see it now. Eyes closed, behind the shade of his arm in Eönwë’s bedroom, he could recall how intently Sauron had observed him eat the waiting stew from where the wolf had lain curled beside him on the bed. The warm head that had been resting on his lap had shifted against his flaccid sex. No loincloth had been supplied with the uniform with which Sauron had supplied him; his nightshirt had ridden right up. Sauron had lapped at his penis and after a while, as Lindir’s hunger abated and warmth crept through his limbs, he had felt his body respond to the caresses. The wolf had risen and he, instructed by something – passion, was it? – had crawled, onto hands and knees to let the growling wolf take him.

Afterwards, Sauron had changed back into the form Lindir loved best – that maskless form. The Maia had lay beside him, an arm around his shoulders. Lindir had lain on his stomach. The Maia had stroked his back; he had stroked it lingeringly, in such a way as to make his every nerve tremble.

Then the Maia had asked him to look at him. “Lindir,” he had said, in that mild, soft, yet commanding voice – a voice that Lindir would follow even now with all his heart. “Look at me.”

Lindir had done so and he had smiled when the other kissed him gently. Then Sauron had raised his hand and from it had tumbled that necklace: that sparkling, shimmering necklace that Annatar had gifted him with in Eregion. “Keep this on for me,” Sauron had said then, as he had fastened it around Lindir’s neck. “For me.”

“Aye,” Lindir had whispered.

And then Sauron had left him.

Why Lindir had been so complacent about the size of the cell, he knew not. How he had borne such a long time in that small cell with nothing to amuse him, he knew not. All he knew was that one day, he tired of it and he tired of conversing with the elves through the door and wished to see their faces with his own eyes and not simply their slim fingers poking through the flap. He wished to leave his prison.

~*~

Glorfindel eyed the elf who had just entered the bar through the throng of dancing and laughing elves in the centre of the long room.

He had been quietly nursing two goblets of white wine beside the bar counter and waiting for Ecthelion to return from his search for a blacksmith to reshoe his horse when he had heard the door creak open and in the corner of his eye, caught a flash of opulence.

He looked at the luxurious white fur cloak, an alien garment in such a small village; such a village of labourers and farmers, however rich in mirth, and then, his attention had shifted to the face of the small, slender Teler elf encased in it.

It had struck him, that face. So delicate, so like Lindir’s in its paleness, in the dark trembling intensity of the eyes, and in the dark locks that lay braided back against the elf’s skull. If he half-closed his eyes, he could even imagine that it _was_ Lindir standing there at the door.

But then the elf turned his head and looked in his direction, and Glorfindel knew then, on seeing the gravity and poise in the other’s weary and lined face… on seeing those learned eyes heavy with troubled knowledge and intention, that it could never be Lindir. He looked back at his drinks.

The elf had to be an official of some sort; perhaps he was a travelling nobleman or diplomat of King Thingol’s court from the far south-east by the Bay of Eldamar. Or perhaps he was a servant of King Olwe of Alqualondë, though what he was doing so far west of his master’s lands, Glorfindel knew not. He picked up the drink that he had ordered for himself and breathed deeply of its contents. Then he put it back down and exhaled, his jaw tightening.

Six weeks had passed since he had left Mount Taniquetil, but it felt as if barely any time had passed at all. In the day, they usually travelled – walking or sight-seeing or riding or hunting – and then in the evenings, they partied. But all of it, every ounce of it, had felt empty somehow. It had all felt meaningless somehow.

He knew the travelling and the laughter and the dancing was doing him well, but for some reason, he still felt nauseous in his stomach. In addition, he still had trouble sleeping at night. It seemed that whenever he lay down and the lights went out, especially when Ecthelion was not lying on the other side of the bed, that his thoughts turned to pondering his life with Lindir and every single thing that he had seen in that courtroom.

Sauron _had_ had sex with Lindir. Sauron _was_ bonded to Lindir. He had confirmed what he had not even thought possible to fear with his own eyes that afternoon. He had not needed Laiglas to tell him otherwise or to hear Glingal telling Gloredhel so through a closed door to know that it was so. He had seen enough to know that the elf to whom he had sworn his heart, to know that the elf to whom his heart was inextricably bound, was not his alone. He had seen enough to know that before he had given his heart to Lindir, Lindir had loved another for longer and had allowed another to be more intimate with him than Glorfindel could ever manage with his elven hands.

Why had Lindir done it? Why had Lindir hidden such a thing from him? How could he have been so cursedly blind?

“Such a fool!” he muttered, staring blankly at his drink. Then, when the flash of white fur caught the corner of his eye again, he lifted his head to observe the small Teler elf pass him and head a few feet away to sit down beside the counter whereupon he waved over the bartender.

“My dear friend,” the Teler said, after kissing the bartender, who seemed to know him, upon the cheeks. “It has been a long time indeed.” His voice was educated, but Glorfindel’s brow knitted as he heard in its tone, which harked at something of Doriath’s highborn – like to Elrond’s or Celeborn’s accents, something he did not recognise. It was a slight deepness, a strange earthy accent that on first hearing made him feel distinctly uneasy, though he could not place why.

The bartender fetched the Teler a drink, a goblet of what looked like water, but Glorfindel supposed it was something akin to miruvor, the elixir of Imladris, or some other type of invigorating drink. Whatever was in it, the elf’s shoulders seemed to relax and the darkness in his face fled a little after he began to sip at it.

Then, finally, he opened his mouth and spoke again. Glorfindel listened, not so much because he was interested in what the elf had to say – though that changed on hearing the other’s words – but more because he greatly desired to pinpoint the reason for the other’s strange accent.

“Well, though Finwe turned me away at the door, I managed to inconvenience Finarfin into an audience,” the elf said quietly, with a sidelong, weary look at the mirth in the faces of those on the dance floor. “He was very accommodating, very agreeable…” He sighed and trailed off.

“But?” prompted the bartender, leaning forward with arms folded on the other side of the counter, his gaze fixed intently on the elf.

“But when the conversation turned to the subject of creating services for former thralls and their children, well,” the elf shrugged slightly, helplessly. “He listened to me, but his answer was rehearsed. Nothing will change, for now.”

The bartender’s face twitched with resigned disappointment.

There was a short silence. Then the bartender said, “Well, perhaps the trial will change their thinking at a later date.”

The cloaked one shook his bird-like face. “I doubt it,” he said. “All of the witnesses have been summoned now. Those of their relatives or friends with any influence would have already created the seeds of noise at court. But there was no noise. There is not a breath to be heard of Sauron’s trial on the streets. It is as if it is a bad dream to the residents; something to be thought of only fleetingly and as if it were only fantasy and something that will fade with the rising of the sun and the waxing of spring.”

There followed another silence.

Presently, the bartender broke the silence once more by saying, “So, where are you headed now, Estel? Do you intend to venture north to view the trial with your own eyes?”

The elf shook his head. “I cannot now, but I hope to do so soon,” he said. “For now, I must return to the orphanage to help them out. Three more children arrived whilst I was in Tirion and we are missing five carers due to the trial.”

“Oh dear. Oh Estel, I wish I could do more to help there.”

The cloaked one smiled at him then. It was a tired, but genuinely appreciative smile. “You have already done and achieved so much; thank you again, so much, for making trade between this town and the villages possible. We would not be where we are now without your support.”

The bartender inclined his head. Then, when his assistant called him from the tables lining the walls of the room, he excused himself and walked away.

Glorfindel observed the elf out of the corner of his eye for a while. Then, when the elf suddenly looked at him inquiringly and unsmilingly, apparently having noticed his attention, Glorfindel looked at him full in the face.

Estel’s brow rose. After a moment, he exhaled and ventured calmly, with a glance around them, “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions,” Glorfindel replied.

Eyeing him, Estel considered his request for a few moments. Then, finally he inclined his head and held out a hand towards the seat beside him. Glorfindel dipped his own head and moved to take it. “Thank you,” he said.

Estel just looked back at his drink and took another sip of it.

Glorfindel waited for the elf to invite him to venture his questions, but when no invitation arrived, he finally asked, “Are you a diplomat?”

Estel raised his eyes from looking thoughtfully at his goblet and looked at him. “Of a sort. Are you a son of His Highness, King Ingwë?”

Glorfindel nodded. “You know the household?”

“Nay, not socially; I have visited his halls a few times to remind him – fruitlessly, alas – of his responsibility towards all elves, not merely towards those untainted by darkness. You are a great grandson?”

“Grandson,” Glorfindel corrected.

The elf’s brow knitted faintly. Then, just as suddenly as the frown arrived, it faded before comprehension and faint surprise. “Lord Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel inclined his head.

“My name is Estel.”

“I overheard.”

Estel blinked, but made no comment on Glorfindel’s admission of eavesdropping. “What did you wish to ask of me?”

“You seem to know something of elven politics as it concerns, or rather does not concern itself with, former thralls,” Glorfindel said. He watched Estel nod slightly. “I was curious to know what the situation of elvish thralls is currently in these lands.”

“Why ask this of me?” Estel’s brow knitted. “Could you not ask this of your own household?”

“Aye, but I wish to hear it from one who associates with thralls.”

“With respect, your lordship, how do thralls concern you?”

“I see you are not acquainted with my personal history.”

Estel smiled slightly. “Well, it is a little hard considering your absence from Ingwë’s court since your return from Middle-earth.”

“You visit Ingwë’s court as well?”

“I did, until the start of the trial when Ingwë’s term as King of Elvenhome expired and Finwe returned to command these lands in accordance with the rules of the shared monarchy.” Estel looked back at his drink. “It is strange, is it not, that the trial should begin exactly when the attention of the citizens of Elvenhome shifts away from Ingwë’s kingdom.”

“It certainly would avert the general populace’s attention from the trial,” Glorfindel agreed. “Do you think the start of the trial was delayed until the switch had taken effect? I did wonder when I heard that Sauron had still not been trialed when I first arrived here.”

“I do think it was delayed, though whether it was our government or Ainur or both who delayed it, I do not know.” Estel shot him a sidelong, rather appreciative smile. “You are interested in politics, I see; I wonder that I never saw or heard of you at court since you returned to these lands. Were you travelling, as I assume you are doing now, perhaps? Or did you settle outside of the primary capitals, perhaps in Tol Eressea?”

“Nay, I live in Tirion.” When Estel frowned, he added his drawcard. “I avoid court now not because I am disinterested in it, but because I do not wish to have my personal life discussed by those who do attend it. You see, Estel, I am married to a former thrall and in addition to having adopted their children, who were born in captivity, we also have two of our own. I do not wish to be responsible for others finding out their background and disadvantaging them as a result; that is why I have avoided court.”

Estel looked at him now with new eyes. “I understand,” the elf said then. “What do you wish to know about the situation of former thralls?”

“Well, to start, how many are there? Besides my spouse and their children, I know no other thralls personally except one whose name is whispered by my best friend and who I have never met.”

“Thousands,” Estel said. “There are many thousands of them, most of them living in the villages a little further west of here; closer to the mountains. Perhaps there are even more – perhaps there is even a hundred thousand, when children and those who are Houseless are counted. Most former thralls – of those that consider themselves as such – have lived no more than a few months in captivity. Elves have an exceptionally high death rate as thralls. It is much, much higher than for the Secondborn. Most elves sicken swiftly in darkness and despair and our apparent fragility and attractiveness make us frequent targets of attacks. It is for that reason that over the ages, one may see how the methods in keeping elven captives increasingly favour isolating us.”

“Are you a former thrall?”

Estel’s lips twitched slightly, as if he was amused. “Nay,” he said. “I am merely a concerned citizen.”

“You seem amused at my inquiry; should I know your name? Your accent…” Glorfindel trailed off with a frown.

“Nay, you would not know of me. I was educated on those lands, but I made my reputation here. I was amused because I am often asked that question. As for my accent, I spent many years in the Second Age in the company of orcs. By choice,” he added, on seeing Glorfindel’s frown. “I wished to learn more about them.” He shrugged slightly. “My meddling is what eventually cost me my life, but I think it was worth it. Anyway, that is the source of the accent.” A smile flickered dryly about his lips. “It usually discomforts those who have dwelt on those shores.”

“Aye.” In the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Ecthelion enter the door. When he looked back at Estel, he saw that the elf had followed his eyes and was looking at Ecthelion, a faint crease in his brow.

“Are you acquainted with Ecthelion?” Glorfindel asked him.

“Oh, aye,” Estel said, looking back at him with a smile. “Or rather, I am acquainted with his brother. I expect it was to him to whom you earlier referred. Anyway, I must leave now. But before I do so, it would be improper of me to not invite you, if you are curious to hear and see more of the former thralls that dwell in Elvenhome, to my dwelling in the last village before Mandos. I should be there until the end of summer when I may venture to Mount Taniquetil. Please do not hesitate to call on me if you happen to pass that way. I must admit I am very curious to hear more about your spouse.”

“I shall consider do so. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Then, after inclining his head, Estel rose, waved farewell to the bartender, who was still occupied, and turned away to walk to the door that led to the stairwell and the guestrooms.

Moments later, Ecthelion arrived at his side. His friend took one look between him and the door and then said, with an annoyed look. “So. What has Estel been telling you?”

“He has not been telling me anything that I did not invite him to tell,” Glorfindel said, looking at Ecthelion in surprise. “You know him?”

“Aye,” Ecthelion said shortly. He sat down in the seat that Estel had recently vacated. “He is an activist for former thralls. My older brother – the one I followed to Mount Taniquetil – thinks the world of him.”

“But you do not like him?”

“I do not,” Ecthelion exhaled. “I do not agree with his belief that former thralls are somehow incapable of integrating back into elven society and that we should cripple everyone else with higher taxes in order to throw money at them.” He looked at Glorfindel. “He did not say so to you?”

“Nay, he left before we had spoken much about the situation of former thralls in Elvenhome. I thought he was rather friendly, though I was somewhat taken aback when he told me that he voluntarily spent time living with orcs.” He pushed the goblet of wine that he had been keeping for Ecthelion across the counter to him.

“He is quite mad,” Ecthelion said, taking the vessel and raising it to his lips to sip it. “In my opinion, the only reason the elves in those villages are unemployed is not because they are so traumatised that they are unable to work, but because there is no work for them. They should be retrained and forced to move to the cities. I do not believe the prejudice against them is that strong in the cities. After all, my brother copes perfectly well and those friends of mine that you saw in Ingwë’s halls – their relatives all live and work in the cities or nearby townships.” 

Glorfindel said nothing. He thought about his admission to Estel of his reasons for not returning to court; the reason why he did no work at all, but instead took his modest monthly allowance from King Turgon’s household – thanks to his service in the First Age – and lived off Ecthelion’s kindness.

In monetary terms, it would be better for him to leave Lindir. If that happened, and he could swallow his conscience, he would be able to accept the considerable allowance that his status as Ingwë’s grandson afforded him.

“He reminds me of Lindir.”

“Aye, I suppose they are similar in looks,” Ecthelion agreed. “They are both Lindon born and students of Elrond too; he entered court with Elrond’s name.” He frowned when Glorfindel suddenly shot him an odd look. “What is it?”

“Do you think they could be related?”

“I suppose it is possible. You did not recognise Estel’s father’s name when he introduced himself?”

“Nay, he did not introduce himself; we began speaking after I overheard him speaking to the bartender. Besides, I do not know Lindir’s father’s name so it would hardly help. Elrond never enlightened me as to details about Lindir’s family because Lindir did not wish for him to say anything about them to me.”

“Estel’s father is Talagant, a music teacher.”

“Talagant? A music teacher?” Glorfindel loudly cursed and jumped up to run through the door to the stairwell. Ecthelion followed. He sprinted up the stairs and on finding a maid, grabbed her by the arm. “Where is Estel?” 

“Out in the stables,” she said, staring at him in bewilderment. “He came to say farewell to me only a few moments ago.”

“He is not staying here tonight?”

“Nay, he never stays; he only calls in to speak to my master. If you hurry, you may catch him, though.”

Glorfindel nodded, thanked her, and ran back down the stairs to exit the side door at the back of the stairwell that led out into the street. He ran out a few steps, then stopped and cursed viciously under his breath when he saw, already a speck in the far west, a rider wearing Estel’s white cloak.

He turned back towards the inn. Ecthelion was standing at the side door and holding it open for him. As Glorfindel angrily trudged back to him, Ecthelion ventured, “Is he gone?”

“Obviously!” Glorfindel snapped, pushing past him. “Why have I never heard of him before now? Why was Elrond so cursedly silent?” He stalked upstairs, glaring at the maid’s smile as he passed her on the landing. On entering his guestroom for the night, he tossed back the door, intending for it to slam.

It did not. He shot Ecthelion a nasty look when he saw his friend leaning on the doorjamb and looking irritably at him.

“You should leave,” Glorfindel told him. “I am in a foul mood.”

“You hardly need to tell me with words that you have misplaced your temper. You actions have already told me that quite plainly. What confuses me is why you are angry over merely missing an opportunity to speak to a possible relative of Lindir’s. Surely you have far greater reasons to discard patience than a simple maybe?”

Glorfindel grimaced. His head was throbbing. “I know I do. I just… snapped.” He sunk into a sitting position on the end of his bed and put his head in his hands. “Valar, Ecthelion, you do not understand how frustrated I am right now… how confused I am. I may as well tell you now: this so-called vacation is not working for me at all.”

“I see. Would you like to go back to Mount Taniquetil?”  
“Oh, Valar, nay. Nay, I cannot do that now either. I must know something of what I want before I go back there: my parents will try to shake my every conviction and Lindir… well, even if Lindir has finished helping the court, he will not help me come to a decision about our relationship.”

“Would you like to go back to Tirion? As you know from my lady’s letters, news of the trial is subdued there.”

“Nay.” Glorfindel shook his head and thought back to Estel’s parting words to him. “Nay, I will venture far west, Ecthelion. Estel invited me to his residence in the months before summer.”

“Are you sure that is wise? You do know that his residence, which is an orphanage, borders Mandos, the Halls of Waiting?”

“I heard as much.” Glorfindel looked at Ecthelion’s troubled face. His lips twitched sympathetically. “You do not have to come with me, Ecthelion. I, too, do not wish to return to Mandos’ borders, but if I must do so, then so be it.”

“Nay,” Ecthelion said then. “Glorfindel, you do not even know if Estel and Lindir are related. If they do indeed share the same father, Talagant, then let us at least confirm as such before you venture within the circle of coldness that emanates from Lord Namo’s doors.”

Glorfindel nodded. “But how do you propose we learn of their relationship? Perhaps through Talagant? Do you know where he dwells?”

“Last I heard, Talagant dwells in Koromas, on Tol Eressea,” Ecthelion said, shaking his head. “It will be mid-summer by the time you return to these parts from there.” He frowned to himself for a few moments. Then, as his expression cleared, he said, “We should ask the bartender here. From what the maid said on the stairwell, he is a friend of Estel’s. If he does not know, then allow me to take you on a detour to a township further south of here, near the main road that runs east from Mandos. You may recall it. In it are kept records of the names and households of every elf on Arda. They are kept for the purpose of helping newly resurrected elves: all elves who return are taken there and, after these lists of their names and households are consulted, delivered to their closest relatives.”

Glorfindel thought back, then shook his head. “I do not remember much of those days, though I do know that I was taken to Ingwë’s household.”

“Neither do I, but according to what I learned in years subsequent to my resurrection, every elf has a file in that township, whether they have died or not, even elves of the Unwilling. Lindir’s name should be on one of those lists.”

“How do you know about these records?”

“I know about them because I ventured there to ask about my older brother, who was still absent at the time,” Ecthelion said. “In addition, after the influx of returned elves at the start of the Third Age – due to the war – a number of well-known elves whose relatives were still lost, ventured there to use the records to erect a shrine to the Houseless and those lost.” He smiled at Glorfindel. “So what do you think? If the bartender offers no answers, should we venture there before parting ways on the road to Mandos?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Aye.” Then, as he rose, he turned to Ecthelion and suddenly embraced him tightly. “Thank you, Ecthelion.”

“You are welcome, my friend.”

~*~

Lindir stirred when he heard voices and removed his arm from over his eyes. The light from the lantern was shifting so he sought to sit up. He immediately shrunk back on seeing Eönwë looking at him from where he stood holding the lantern at the table beside the three other Maiar and another… another who Lindir distinctly did recognise. A face that he had known since he had been a child. A teacher whose parchments on the bodies of thralls were the ones on the table and which had accompanied him in that fateful carriage to the valley below Mount Taniquetil.

Elrond seemed to sense his gaze and the half-elf turned his head quickly to look at him. His placid expression quickly turned to one of disquiet. Then as they gazed at each other further, Elrond swallowed and pushed past Eönwë to come to his side.

“You should be asleep,” he said anxiously. “Should I make a drink to help you do so?”

Lindir shook his head. He felt sick. He felt confused. He did not know whether he was supposed to trust the apparently concerned half-elf addressing him or not. Suddenly, he felt bitter as well as weak and small and utterly, utterly helpless. How could Elvenhome allow for this to happen to him? He did not understand it.

Elrond touched his arm. Lindir flinched at the touch and was glad when Elrond looked chastised. The half-elf withdrew his hand hesitantly. Lindir looked away.

“I have already dreamt,” he said. “I have dreamt ill dreams every night since I was brought here. I do not wish to dream again. Get it over with and then leave me be.”

He sensed Elrond hesitate. Then his former teacher and lord said, “I understand,” and Lindir heard him stand back. “He will need to be strapped down,” he said to someone else, presumably Eönwë as it was Eönwë who responded.

“Allow me,” the Maia replied. Presently Lindir saw Eönwë come into his field of vision. He tensed, his pulse quickening, when Eönwë put the lantern down on the floor before leaning over him and taking his arms by the wrists, meeting his gaze as he did so. Lindir looked away, unable to bear the other’s icy gaze. When Eönwë moved back, he realised he could not move his arms and on looking up, saw that a ring of thick ice encased each wrist, pinning each to the mattress either side of the pillow.

He felt Eönwë take his ankles then, then felt his body go rigid when Eönwë sought to spread his legs gently. Eönwë looked up and met his gaze. There was a warning in his eyes. Lindir stared back fearfully, but obstinately. He did not want to be exposed. Had he not been humiliated enough? In court, under Silmo, under Eönwë… under everyone! He did not want to be humiliated again. Not again. Not before all these strangers.

Suddenly Eönwë leaned forward, his eyes not leaving Lindir’s face, and ran his hands up his legs: right up to his thighs. Lindir choked. His breath trembled, his body shook when he felt Eönwë’s thumbs slip between the gap between his thighs and gently, but firmly prise them apart, pushing them upwards as he did so. When they were as far spread as possible, Lindir felt rings of ice latch around his upper thighs and ankles. He choked again when Eönwë shot a mocking, lingering look at his exposed entrance, before taking the lantern and hanging it on a hook that had suddenly descended for the purpose above the centre of the bed. Then he withdrew back to his fellows and Elrond.

“He is completely at your disposal,” he told them.

The other Maiar and Elrond came to the side of the bed. They stood two on either side. The servant of Manwe held the parchments in his hands. Lindir looked down when the brown-clad one suddenly reached over him and, with an outstretched finger, drew a line across each of Lindir’s clavicles, a line down his sternum and past his naval, and two lines, mirroring the clavicle ones, across the front of his pelvis.

It was painless. Lindir could not even see a line being drawn. So when he saw the Maia suddenly lift back the skin covering his right… and then left flap of his torso and abdomen, revealing the glistening organs within, especially in light of his dream, he naturally panicked.

Suddenly he could not breathe, though he was certainly gasping for breath. Elrond looked at him in alarm. Then, after glancing at the other Maiar, who had neither moved nor looked troubled at their patient’s panicked state, he pushed the Maia beside him aside and sat down beside Lindir to lean over him and kiss his brow.

“Lindir, Lindir…” he soothed, stroking the side of his head. Lindir could already feel himself calming somewhat. “Lindir, they really need this cure. All I am going to do is show them, visually, how I operated on you. I wish you were asleep; you should not have to see this with your own eyes. Do you wish to sleep?”

Lindir swallowed. He stared at Elrond through the tears in his eyes and shook his head. “I know… what I look like inside; I have seen other elves. I was… surprised,” he said haltingly.

Elrond nodded and then drew back. Lindir looked down and observed that the brown-clad Maia, whilst Elrond had been comforting him, had occupied himself with taking out his intestines and draping the coiled mass outside his abdominal cavity and across the bed.

Elrond looked shocked. “Ai,” he exclaimed, reaching forward to touch the Maia’s arm. “What are you doing? We do not need to take everything out; we could have pushed the intestines aside.”

“This is not an operation,” the Maia replied, looking at him. “It is not a quick in and out surgical procedure as is practiced by the elves. It is a practical demonstration for the purpose of conveying what you know about these parasites and how to remove them to us. I may not need greater visibility, but the servants of Namo and Manwe do as they are not acquainted with the insides of other creatures unlike my own master and mistress.”

Elrond looked at him critically for a few moments. Then he exhaled and shook his head. “Anyway,” he said, outstretching his hand and pointing into the somewhat emptied space of Lindir’s abdomen, “as you can now see, there is the bladder and growing on its underside are the milk glands… and beneath it – that swollen organ – that is the uterus.”

“Where is the parasite?”

“It is connected to the new organs.”

“What are those vessels?”

“Which ones? Well, those are… or they once were vessels that carried sperm from his testes. They now carry eggs. As for this vessel here, this carries milk to the urethra, which is expended when he ejaculates. When I first tried to remove the parasite, I just removed his uterus and the birth canal that connects to his anus, and his testes. It regrew so on my second attempt, in addition to removing what I removed the first time, I also removed the milk glands and the vessel to the urethra.”

The one holding Elrond’s notes suddenly stirred. “You mention in your notes that you could see the parasite when you manipulated some of the organs in question.”

Elrond glanced at Lindir. Then he said, his tone awkward, “Aye. If he becomes aroused or if certain organs are touched, then you may see the parasite moving in the walls of certain of the organs. The heart of it seems to be here, attached to his uterus. He touched spot of Lindir’s insides – assumedly his uterus (Lindir could not see that well from his position), and Lindir felt the spot twitch. “There, you see it moved.”

Eönwë suddenly walked up to stand beside Elrond. “Excuse me,” he said to Elrond, before leaning over Lindir and wrapping his hand around Lindir’s penis to begin massaging it. Lindir blinked in surprise when he felt Eönwë’s hand unexpectedly warm and… pleasant. He stared nervously at the Maia for a while as the other massaged him, doubtful that the other would even succeed in arousing him, especially in front of others. Then, when he suddenly felt his penis stir and Eönwë’s caresses strike deep into his core, he gasped and bit his lower lip, willing himself to be silent.

Eönwë massaged him for awhile, long enough for Lindir to settle down and get used to it, before stopping and removing his hand. Lindir felt his face redden when he saw his drooling erection standing and pointing almost to his face. That the others observing, including Elrond, were neither looking at his face nor at his erection was little comfort. They were looking into his abdomen.

“Is that all?” Elrond asked then, looking at Eönwë. “That is all I did to him.”

Eönwë looked at his colleague, the other servant of Manwe, and then back at Elrond. “For how long was he pregnant with his children in Rivendell?”

“It varied. He was with one for almost ten months, but with his second, he was with that for over a year. I think my attempt to remove the parasite after the first pregnancy is why the second was extended; the creature needed longer in order to repair itself before carrying the second child to full term. Or perhaps implantation was delayed, as happens in some animals, and gestation started later. I do not know.”

There was a silence. Then Eönwë nodded. “My colleague will take you back to your rooms.”

Elrond inclined his head, shot Lindir an apologetic look, and then walked away out of view along with the unnamed servant of Manwe. Lindir returned his attention to the brown-clad Maia, who was placing his intestines back into place. After that was done, the Maia closed over the flaps of skin; the skin healed without even a scar, but Lindir knew now why he always felt weak and sore when he woke up each morning.

The black and brown-clad Maia now looked at Eönwë. After exchanging a meaningful look with each of them, the unnamed ones bowed and walked away in the direction in which Elrond and the other Maia had disappeared. Then Lindir was at last alone with Eönwë.

Eönwë said nothing to him. He took a small bottle out of his pocket and came over to sit beside him on the bed, close to his abdomen and Lindir’s fading erection. Lindir regarded him nervously for a few moments. Then he said, “What are you going to do?”

Eönwë did not reply immediately, instead continuing to regard him thoughtfully. Then he reached out to wrap his long hand around Lindir’s erection. He began to stroke it and Lindir tensed as he felt his body warm to the other’s touch. He bit his lip again.

“You are so much more unrestrained when I do this to you in your sleep,” Eönwë commented then, his voice quiet. Lindir felt his jaw tighten. He said nothing, but perhaps that was a mistake as suddenly Eönwë raised his eyes to meet Lindir’s downward gaze, a sly smile on his lips. Lindir looked back warily. He twisted his wrists cautiously within the bands of ice holding his arms. He wanted to ask why. Why was Eönwë milking him? Why had Eönwë raped him? Why had Eönwë inseminated him when he so clearly despised him? But he did not dare.

He grimaced and looked away when he felt his body shudder. Eönwë bent his erection over and pressed the tip to the mouth of the bottle as he continued to massage him. A final tremor and then it was over. He felt the ice encasing his wrists and legs give way. Pulling his wrists free, he nervously sat up and, as he rubbed his wrists, watched Eönwë tap the bottle of white liquid gently with the tip of his finger before corking it closed.

The Maia pocketed the bottle and then reached down beneath the bed to retrieve the bedpan. He placed it on the bed and opened the funnel shaped lid: it was empty and clean. On closing it, he pushed it towards Lindir and, needing no other instruction, Lindir hesitantly threaded his penis through the funnel and relieved himself.

Afterwards, Eönwë put away the pan and brought him a clean nightshirt. As Lindir donned it, he saw the bed coverlets reappear, the soft material seemed to melt out of the mattress cover. He looked at Eönwë, but saw that whilst his attention had been on the bed, the Maia had disappeared. Unsure whether he felt glad or regretful at the Maia’s sudden departure and his lost opportunity to find out why he was being kept here for such a long time, he crawled under the covers and lay back down.

“Lindir,” Glorfindel ventured one night, one night whose date he warranted neither of them now remembered. He did remember, however, that the moon had been especially bright that night and that until the small hours, they had been sitting on the window seat, Lindir nestled with his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder, Glorfindel leaning against the window frame.

They had been sitting there and listening to the minstrels lullabying on the greensward ever Glorfindel had woken around midnight and noticed Lindir sitting there on the seat. He had quietly joined him, silently marvelling all the while at the absorbed expression on Lindir’s small face as the smaller elf listened.

So, when the minstrels finally retired and they retired to the blankets of their own bed, and Lindir had snuggled up to him, he had ventured, “Lindir.”

“Hm?” Lindir’s voice was soft and sleepy.

“Do you know how to play an instrument?”

Lindir made a soft amused noise in his throat. “Nay. Why do you ask?”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Lindir made another noise and shifted his head to look at him. “I would like to learn an instrument,” he said, with a smile. “But Glorfindel, you are so busy and I fear I will be a slow student.”

“I would hardly notice such an imposition.” Glorfindel stroked Lindir’s hair and smiled back at him. “So would you like me to teach you a little something?”

Lindir nodded.

“What instrument?” When Lindir shrugged, Glorfindel thought for awhile. Then he kissed the top of his head. “You already have a pretty voice and it is seemly that an elf named ‘singer’ would sing, is it not? How about I train your voice?”

“Humph. Singers may sound fair or ill, Glorfindel, and I do not think my voice sounds very good.”

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.” Glorfindel shook his head. “You have a very sweet, clear voice, and although it is a little roughened, that has only served to strengthen it. I think it could be very pleasing to the ear, with a little training.”

Lindir smiled and snuggled closer to him. “Well, thank you, and I hope so too. I look forward to your lessons.”

“As do I. I think some lessons will help to cheer you. You have been rather subdued lately. Ever since the boys travelled away with Elrond’s sons to visit Lothlórien, it has been quiet in Rivendell for you.”

“Well, Laiglas and Linden are still here,” Lindir said. “But you are right. It is very quiet without them.” He sighed. “I will be glad to have something new to occupy me.”

“I am glad to hear it.” And Glorfindel kissed him once more.


	3. Chapter 37-49

Chapter 37

Lindir slept fitfully the rest of the night and through the following day. His mind could not rest and fears of the approaching night and what Eönwë’s next visit would entail beset him. He kept on wondering why he had been chosen as a test subject for a cure rather than anyone else or indeed anyone at all. He wondered why they seemed to think he was so special, he wondered why the Valar, and from what he had gathered of Elrond's appearance, why at least some of the elves of Elvenhome had sanctioned this treatment of him. Were not they doing to him what they were accusing Sauron of committing as a crime? Were they not experimenting on him? Were they not acting without his permission?

 _Oh, I do not know, I do not know,_ he thought to himself as he stared up at the smooth translucent ceiling and watched the daylight wane behind the barrier. _I do not even know of what the court is charging Sauron._ He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his face hard with his palms.

Then, as he thought a little longer, he exhaled, dropped his hands, and closed his eyes wearily. A soft curse directed towards himself escaped his lips. _Ilúvatar, why did I not think to tell Elrond at the time? Elrond made no mention of my pregnancy, though he said my uterus was swollen. I should have mentioned it at the time to him; perhaps he does not know all of what Eönwë has done to me._

Would he ever see Elrond again? Last night, the half-elf had sounded not as if he intended to participate directly in the experiment, but as if he were handing over all he knew of Lindir’s condition to the Ainur so that they might use the knowledge themselves... and for their own ends.

The light disappeared beyond the walls of his icy prison. Lindir felt tears prick his eyes. He knew Eönwë would never cease humiliating him. Why did the Maia loathe him so? Why was he allowed to express his hatred with such aggression? He, Lindir, had done wrong in his time, certainly. He had done terrible things, but did any of them call for such treatment as retribution? Did any of them call for such treatment without trial? Not even Sauron was being dealt such debasing torment. Eönwë was the chief servant of the King of Arda, but from his behaviour he was acting like anything but a beloved ruler’s most honoured herald. He was acting spitefully, bitterly… as if he had offended him personally. Lindir had no recollection at all of having offended Eönwë. So why him? Why, oh by Ilúvatar, why him? What had he done? What, if anything, could he still not recall of his time as Sauron’s thrall that was pertinent? What had he done that Sauron had not? What had he done to warrant Manwë’s silence towards Eönwë's treatment of him?

Around the room, the night waxed and outside Lindir’s cell, the trembling stars became visible in the fabric of the heavens above the world. They shone on Glorfindel’s hopeful face as he dismounted at yet another village and, as the elf lord pushed back his hood, turned back to look at the mountain on which he had left his beloved. They shone on Laiglas’ troubled face as he arrived, hand in hand with Silmo, on the banks of the still waters of the Lake of Lórelli, realm of Irmo, Lord of Dreams. They shone on Linden’s pale face as she waited outside the doors of the courtroom to snatch an audience with Eönwë, who was meeting with the judges. They shone on the surprised faces of Lindo and Gloredhel in a courtyard of Ingwë’s halls as they learned from four former thralls of an uncle named Estel. They shone on Glingal’s politely amused face as he dined with his sweetheart’s family for what would be the sixth time since his arrival at Ingwë’s halls.

Trapped inside Eönwë’s room, Lindir saw only darkness. He received no such blessing from Elbereth. And for the first time in his life, he truly wished he had never been born; he truly wished that Ilúvatar had never breathed life into the shell that was his body, his spirit’s house. For it was no longer a home to him.

~*~

As expected, Eönwë came to see him that night: to milk him and to collect his urine. He seemed to be in a hurry, for which Lindir was initially glad, but after Eönwë left and he found himself with only sleepless thoughts for company, his feelings turned mute. Like his dreams, his thoughts were little better company than Eönwë’s presence, and if possible, the waiting and wondering, in waking and in dreams, was worse.

The following day progressed like the first. The day after that, the same too. Eönwë came, silently collected his samples, and then left; though not before casting Lindir a derisive look and making Lindir sure he saw it. After the first night and receiving only a scornful look that tore at him in response to his query about Glorfindel and his children, Lindir did not attempt to speak to him. The following night, Lindir stopped looking at him except when requested.

On the fourth night since Elrond’s visit, the brown-clad Maia arrived with Eönwë. They approached him and silently, without even so much as looking at him or speaking words in greeting, Eönwë folded back the covers and the brown-clad one withdrew a long needle, at its other end a vial, from inside one of his sleeves. He took Lindir’s right arm and deftly inserted one end of the needle into his arm. There was no pain beyond the sting as the needle went in. Lindir wearily watched the vial fill up with his blood from where he lay on the bed. Then the needle was pulled out and his arm looked as it had done before the injury. As he observed the Maia pocket the vial, he supposed he was lucky to be attended by Maiar. He had been the one attending the other elves in Sauron’s tower laboratories and their ordeal with needles in his own hands was far less trouble-free. Thankfully, Sauron was usually the one who took the blood and administered injections, but sometimes… sometimes Sauron could not be there. Sometimes he could not be there to see the births. He frequently was absent during the deaths, but then again, there had always been so many more deaths than births in Sauron’s laboratories.

~*~

Lindir knew not for how long he had been inside Sauron’s allocated cell for him in Barad-dur. All he knew was that one day… or was it night, he had had enough and he had asked the elves through the door who claimed to keep the corridors of the level clean, what it was like outside his cell. The responses were not exactly exciting, but the change of scenery sounded interesting. Then again, most anything that sounded different to the four walls, ceiling, and floor that confronted him every moment of every day would have sounded interesting to him.

They told him of the long corridors of stone that they swept and mopped after every second rest break, the wide garbage chute, the Secondborn with strange coloured skin that travelled between floors and brought them food for distributing to residents of the cells… They told him of the elves who lived behind the doors and their varied responses on receiving their meals: those that ate, those that ate only certain types of food, and those that did not eat at all. Lindir lapped it up from where he would kneel on his side of his cell door.

When Sauron next came to visit him, he asked him if he might look out his cell.

“Can I not go out?” he asked him, after they had made love. He sat naked on his bed, his crumpled clothes beneath him, his arms around his knees. Sauron lay beside him, his arms folded behind his head, his eyes expressionless as they gazed up at the shadows that the cell’s lantern played upon the ceiling. The Maia did not respond so Lindir prompted him. “Master?” He used the term of address not because Sauron had told him to do so or because he felt Sauron preferred it, but because he personally thought the term the most fitting considering the nature of the query.

Sauron stirred and turned his head to look at him. His face was still closed. “Barad-dur was designed as a prison, not a guest house,” he said.

Lindir tilted his head. “Am I a prisoner?”

“Everyone is,” was the calm response.

“Do you include yourself in that assessment?”

Something that could have been amusement, reminiscent of the more emotive Annatar, flickered in Sauron’s eyes. Then it faded and Sauron looked back at the ceiling. “There is a empty station that you may fill, if you wish,” he said. “I will show you to it when I next visit.”

“What does this job entail?” Lindir asked curiously.

“It entails leaving this cell,” Sauron replied, looking at him. “That is what you desire most, is it not?” he asked, when Lindir frowned at him.

“Nay, I thought that was assumed. I meant, what is this job? Is it manual labour?” His thoughts turned to cleaning and cooking… or horrors, doing what those elves had done in the Misty Mountains: mining.

Sauron was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I suppose it is the equivalent of working as an assistant healer.”

Healer? Lindir was surprised. “Is there a healing wing here?” he asked.

“Of a kind.”

“For orcs and humans?”

“Nay. For elves.”

Lindir frowned. He felt rather confused. Did Sauron, perhaps, heal those elvish thralls who became injured whilst working for him? But the elves in the corridor had only just told him of their fellow worker’s horribly violent death and the rude disposal of his body down the rubbish chute. “For elvish thralls who work for you?”

“Aye, they work for me.”

“Well… well, I look forward to seeing this wing,” Lindir said finally.

Sauron said nothing. Lindir considered asking him more about this healing wing, but then decided that could come when Sauron took him to the wing. He looked at Sauron and then bent his head to kiss the Maia. “Thank you,” he said, then smiled when Sauron reached up and stroked his right flank, before bending his head to kiss him again

As it turned out, his confusion was well founded and the healing rooms on the floor above to which Sauron had led him on his subsequent visit had been nothing like the healing rooms that Lindir had anticipated.

Sauron had not tried to ease the shock of what confronted him in those long, wide, scrubbed stone rooms above his cell. Instead, if anything, he had exacerbated the horror of the experience to Lindir’s eyes by taking him to the central laboratory through one of the wards that held some of the longest-held victims of his experiments. However well scrubbed the tiles, however orderly the narrow beds and the limbs of the nude bodies arranged upon them, nothing could mask the smell of death and suffering. Their ghastly, mutilated, deformed appearances, the trembling and gasping of that lone elf who had not been asleep and who had seen Sauron enter the room, those dreadful chains that trapped each body to a cold bed in various cruel, humiliating positions.

He had not been sick, but Ilúvatar, he should have been! He should have done something more than cried! Then and afterwards, why had he done nothing to help them? Why, oh Valar, why had he done nothing?

If Sauron noticed his tears, he did not mention them. Wordlessly, he led Lindir into the immense circular central laboratory around which the six wards were arranged, each visible from the laboratory by way of the bars in the connecting metal doors. Inside, an elderly man with dark circles under his eyes peered down from where he stood on a ladder attached to the shelves that ran all around the room, from the harshly scrubbed black stone floor right up to the slightly arched ceiling. He was placing what looked like folded towels back on one of the shelves, but most of the shelves did not contain towels. Rather they contained bottles upon bottles of contents that Lindir recognised, even if he had never seen them before with his own eyes. Elven organs. Organs of all sorts lay silent and still in what he assumed was a preservative of some sort within the glass that imprisoned them.

He looked back at the elderly man, who had begun to climb down from his height on seeing them. He alighted nimbly on the floor, limped forward, and bowed deeply to Sauron. “Master,” he said in the Black Speech. Lindir noticed that there was no accent. The man’s Black Speech was as natural as that of an orc’s, as if he had been born and raised in Mordor.

“This is Lindir,” Sauron said to him, gesturing towards Lindir. The man’s eyes flicked towards Lindir, who nodded faintly at him, blinking back a few of the remaining tears that still clouded his eyes. “He is your new apprentice and not a patient. Teach him what you know; he is to succeed you when you pass on.”

The man’s thinning brows rose when he looked at Lindir. He seemed confused, but he nodded and bowed to Sauron. “As you wish, Master.”

Sauron nodded and then turned away to walk towards one of the doors across from them. “This room is crowded,” he said quietly, after gazing at the ward for a while. He turned back and looked at the old man. “Are all of them survivors of the preliminary test?”

The man nodded. “Aye, Master.” He hesitated. “Though… two are sickening, the ones nearest the chute. One is leaving his body; the other tried to strangle himself on his chains.”

Sauron nodded slightly and turned his head to look back at the ward. “Move the first to the laboratory. I shall see if I can make use of his body after his spirit has left him. As for the second, what is his kindred and body condition?”

“He is Noldorin,” the man said, raising a doubtful eyebrow. “His body condition is still strong; good enough, I think – certainly better than some of the others, but his throat is now badly bruised. You saw him before; you removed his teeth so that he could not continue chewing off his tongue. He is determined to die.”

“I recall him. I will look at him,” Sauron said. As he spoke, the barred door swung soundlessly open. “Come, Lindir,” he said as he strode forward into the hall. Lindir swallowed, looked nervously sidelong at the old man who pursed his lips at him, and then hurried after Sauron.

The elves in this ward were recognisably full-blooded members of their race. Indeed, some of them, the ones who did not stir to observe them, did not look at all harmed, though their tired expressions were unhappy and they were all naked. Of those others, some had only one or no eyes. Others, no hair. One of them had only one of his two arms chained to the front of his bed as he was missing the hand of the other arm. He raised his head to observe them with his dark, flat eyes, his resigned gaze turning curious when he laid eyes on Lindir. Lindir looked away.

Near the end of the long ward, Sauron halted by the second to last bed. In it, an elf with short dark locks and a strong jaw lay still within the heavy chains that kept him shackled on his back to the bed. His eyes were closed. Around his neck was a bandage.

“Master, I injected him with a sedative,” the man suddenly called from the other end of the ward. “I could think of no other way to stop him hurting himself. It should wear off before their next meal time if you wish to speak to him.”

“Nay, I do not wish to speak to him,” Sauron replied, his voice quiet, but piercing enough to carry through the room. He regarded the senseless elf for a few moments, then moved closer to reach out and lift first one eyelid, then the other. Behind the lids, Lindir saw that the elf’s unseeing pupils were huge and black.

Sauron did not release the second eyelid. Instead, with his other hand, he stretched out his gloved middle finger and thumb and dug them into the corners of eye socket to grasp the eye. Lindir, realising only then what he was about to do, cringed and closed his eyes. When he glanced back, he winced again when he saw Sauron move to deftly remove the elf’s other eye.

“Lindir.”

“A-aye?” Lindir looked nervously at him, then winced when Sauron held out his palm to him with the eyeballs in it, their pupils still fully dilated. “Er… aye.”

“Take these to the old human, your new teacher,” Sauron told him as Lindir uneasily picked them out of his hand with his fingers. “He will show you what to do with them.” They felt slick and supple against his skin when he cupped them in his hands. He inclined his head and turned to make his way back down the long, long corridor between the beds, and back to the old man.

“Come, elf,” the man said to him, with an amused look at Lindir’s obvious disrelish at his burden. “I will show you where they go.”

He led Lindir back to the central room and over to a trapdoor in the floor that Lindir had previously not noticed as the opening had been obscured from his sight by the central table. Steps led down from the gap to the lower level. As Lindir followed the man and ducked his head beneath the level of the upper floor, his eyes widened and his steps slowed.

The room was vast, as vast as all the laboratories above put together and without walls. His eyes ran up and down the hundreds of tall aisles of shelves that filled one half of the room, starting immediately to the right of the staircase on which he stood. The cases were spaced so closely together that there was only enough room for one person to walk down any aisle at a time, each crammed with more bottles full of organs like to those that he had seen on the floor above.

He turned his head left and looked then at the many tables that lay there. His lips pursed and then he swallowed hard, his face trembling momentarily.

The tables were covered with motionless bodies and body parts. Their skin was yellow, as if only recently deceased.

“Lindir?”

Lindir turned his head. The man was looking at him from where he stood at the entrance to one of the aisles. He had remembered Lindir's name.

Lindir looked at the side of the aisle and saw a crude drawing of two eyes on a piece of wood. He inhaled deeply, nodded, descended the remaining steps, and went over to the man who disappeared into the aisle.

The man showed him the empty bottles already full of preservative that sat on the lowest few shelves, had him drop the eyeballs into the fluid, then fetched two ladders, climbed up one, had Lindir climb up the other, and showed him how the bottles on the shelves were sorted according to colour, age, condition, species, and kindred.

“Why do you wish to preserve them?” Lindir asked as they descended the ladders.

“For experiments,” the man replied, “and for rewarding obedience. Sight is taken as a punishment; sight is given as a reward. We can take other organs as well: teeth, tongues, hands… but elves value eyesight above every other sense.”

“We?”

“His Lordship, myself, and now you,” the man said. He gestured for Lindir to lead the way out of the room and back up to the central laboratory room. “Usually there are two or three workers here, but one of our last patients was particularly strong. We had no doors, then: those…” as they exited the room and the trapdoor was drawn back down, he gestured at the doors lined with bars that led to the wards, “…were only recently installed. I do not think we shall need them now that the master is returned from Eriador; thralls are quieter when he is close.”

Lindir nodded and looked back at Sauron through the bars of the ward door. The Maia was undoing the chains of another thrall: a dark haired Noldo who still had his long tresses and eyes, eyes which had just opened from slumber and had already filled with tears.

“What is done here?” he asked, watching the shivering elf push himself up onto hands and knees from where he had been lying on his front and shakily turn himself around so that his rear end faced Sauron and the central aisle through the ward.

“Spread your legs and lower your torso,” Sauron said in a firm voice. When the elf obeyed and Lindir saw the elf’s puckered entrance and heard Sauron say, “Good. Stay there now,” he turned nervously to look at the man to repeat his question. But the man had turned away to take a long tube from one of the lower shelves and was now collecting a needle and vial full of white liquid from another low shelf. When he returned to Lindir’s side, it was only to push past him with a gruff, “Follow me.”

When they reached Sauron and the elf, Sauron was standing with a hand on the elf’s trembling shoulder blades, which were glistening with sweat. When Lindir met the elf’s distressed gaze, he found himself unable to look away. The elf was terrified: beyond terrified! Every muscle in his body seemed ready to snap. The whites of his watery eyes, the pulsing blackness of his pupils, the despair in their depths. Lindir looked in confusion and distress at Sauron's masked face and, on turning his head, caught the man's eye. The man reached out, took Lindir's hand, and placed it on the back of one of the elf's sinewy thighs. Lindir felt the muscles taut: ready to jump. So ready… as if the elf desired, desired with all his heart, to bolt, and that all that kept him still was Sauron’s hand. He pulled his hand away from the thigh and the man's hand, suddenly feeling cold and confused... and frightened. He avoided the man's attentive gaze. What was he doing here? What was Sauron doing?

The man moved to chain the elf’s tense hands to side of the bed closest to the wall. Then, when Sauron moved to draw to Lindir’s side, he took over the Maia’s position and stayed there with a hand resting on the elf’s shoulder blades. With his other hand, he held out the tube, needle and vial to Lindir, who took them when Sauron nodded at him approvingly. Then Sauron moved behind him and placed his hands over Lindir’s. Lindir blinked when he felt Sauron’s front press against his back as the Maia drew closer to him and guided him up to the elf's entrance.

“What must I do?” he asked. “Master?”

“Take the tapered end of the tube,” Sauron said. “That is right,” he said, when Lindir did so, and blinked when he felt the tube flexible and sinewy in his hands. “Now,” he continued, moving Lindir’s hands beneath his own and pushing him gently nearer the elf’s entrance, “insert it into his anus.”

The shivering elf’s body twitched slightly when he heard the command, but when Lindir actually inserted the end of the tube, there was no protest from the other elf. Nor did the elf say anything when, on Sauron’s further instruction, Lindir pushed the tube deeper into the elf until almost all of it had disappeared. Indeed, if anything, the elf seemed to relax a little.

As for himself, he felt himself growing more nervous. “What do I do now?” he asked, when he had almost completely threaded the tube into the other elf’s body.

“Take the needle and attach it to the other end of the tube,” Sauron said quietly. Lindir nodded and obeyed. When he had completed the task, he was directed to attach the other end of the needle to the vial of liquid. It was then that he noticed that there was a cap on the bottle of the vial. He removed it on instruction and saw, hidden beneath it, a plunger.

“Now press down on the plunger,” Sauron told him, pressing down on his thumb and down on the plunger as he spoke, and sending the white liquid in the vial winding through the sinewy tube and into the elf’s body as he did so. “Good.”

They waited a few moments. Then Sauron directed him to remove the apparatus from the elf’s body. After Lindir had done so and gingerly handed it back to the man, Sauron turned him around so that they were looking at the ward full of slumbering elves. Still holding Lindir's arms firmly in his gloved hands, the Maia said, “This is one of the nine wards that you saw from the central room. In these wards, I conduct breeding experiments.”

Lindir turned his head and looked at him confusedly. “What sort of breeding experiments?” he asked.

“Male pregnancy experiments. This is how the orcs were made and here, I continue those and other, similar, experiments.”

Lindir thought back to the sight of white liquid flowing from the vial and through the tube inserted into the elf’s anus. He tensed and stared at Sauron in alarm. Oh Elbereth, had he…? “What have I just done?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

“We inseminated him,” Sauron said quietly. “Most of the elves in this room will be inseminated in a similar fashion.”

“And-and what of those elves in that ward through which we arrived?” Lindir ventured then, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Are… are they pre-pregnant? Is that why-why some of their bellies were so swollen?”

“They are long-time mothers. These elves here will be first-time mothers; that is why their bodies still look unchanged on the surface, though inside, they are no longer biologically male.”

Lindir looked around the room, at the slumbering elves. How many of them knew their fate? How many knew that their bodies were no longer reproductively male?

Then he frowned. “Why males? Why not use females?” he asked then.

Behind him, the man snorted softly. But when Lindir turned his head to look at his expression, the man had already turned away to walk past them and back towards the central room, the apparatus in his hands. On the way, he paused beside a bed in which an elf lay motionless, unlocked the bed from the wall, and began to wheel the bed back to the laboratory.

“Most female thralls die when inseminated against their will,” Sauron explained calmly. “Their bodies are designed that way, as are most male bodies. But female thralls are hard to obtain, much less those few who can survive this treatment. Females do not participate in battle and it is females who flee cities and evade capture first. In contrast, it is very easy to obtain males; indeed, the strongest of them are often the quickest to enter thraldom.”

Sauron turned Lindir to look back at the elf that they had just inseminated. The elf had not moved; indeed, he could not. He looked neither embarrassed nor distressed nor angry. His body sagged in his bonds. His tears had stopped flowing, though his face was still wet and the bed beneath his head was damp. Lindir wondered how the elf felt about what he had overheard of his and Sauron's conversation. Did he feel resigned to his fate? Did he feel relieved that the ordeal of insemination was over? Or worried?

“What is his name?” Lindir asked.

“It is Iestir, son of Gildor. He hails from Lindon.”

Lindir was somewhat surprised that Sauron knew the elf's name. How had he come to learn the elf's name? Had Sauron met Iestir in disguise? As Annatar? Or had he forced Iestir to tell him his name?

Then he frowned. Son of Gildor? Possibly Lord Gildor Inglorion of the Exiles of Nargothrond? He felt a chill run through his body as he looked over Iestir's gaunt face and long skinny limbs. He knew Lord Gildor's face from the other end of festival dinner tables and dance floors. There was certainly a resemblance.

He looked away, wishing that he were not standing right behind the elf's exposed genitals.

“Do you know all of the names of these thralls?” Lindir asked then, not looking at Iestir, but at the central room through which he could see the man walking around and water splashing in the basin.

“Aye, I know the names of all of the thralls that I use in my experiments,” Sauron said.

“How?”

Sauron squeezed his arms gently. “I ask them.”

“What if one of them lied to you?”

Lindir sensed Sauron smile beneath the mask. “Then the lie becomes their name. But in Iestir's case, I met him in the guise of Annatar and we befriended each other as fellow travellers on the Greenway.” He paused for a moment, then added, in such an odd, cold tone that Lindir, in spite of the fact that he could not see the Maia's expression through the mask, still turned to look at him, “the friendship did not last the night.”

Lindir shivered. When Sauron's gloved hands slipped from his arms moments later and the Maia walked around the bed to undo Iestir's bonds, he felt both frightened and relieved.

Sauron indicated to Iestir that he was to climb down from the bed. When the elf obeyed, Lindir felt like crying when he saw how unsteady the elf was on his long atrophied legs. He was like a newborn colt, only it was all wrong. He caught Iestir's eyes. Iestir did not seem to see him at first. When the gaze registered him after a few moments, the elf scanned his face slowly. Then the elf looked back down at the bed, which he was using to steady himself whilst his body relearned how to stand up. He was much taller than Lindir. In hindsight, Lindir supposed that he was even taller than Glorfindel.

“Come,” Sauron said then, and took Iestir's left arm with his right hand. He looked at Lindir. “Lindir, now that Iestir has been inseminated and without complications, he may be moved to a more comfortable cell.”

“Aye.” Lindir glanced at Iestir's face and noticed that Iestir was looking at him. The other elf looked away before Lindir could register his expression. Lindir looked back at Sauron. “What do you mean by complications?”

Sauron gestured at the elf, who was still slumbering. “Such as him. Your teacher will indicate which others are not to be unchained.”

“Am I his only apprentice?”

“Nay. I am seeking a few others; we have one hundred and seven elves on this floor and they all need daily attention, though to differing degrees. I will choose a new one when you are settled here. Can you speak the language of the Easterlings? I expect to receive more slaves from them before long and their culture lends itself towards teamwork.”

Lindir nodded. “I can speak it, but I only know the language from books. I have never met an Easterling.”

“That is well, then. Your teacher also knows the language a little so you should both manage until the new boy has mastered the Common Tongue. Now come.”

Lindir followed him to the end of the ward where there was a door and down the curved corridor beyond, which ran around the perimeter of the wards and which was broken up into segments by great barred doors that opened silently before them. To one side gaped the entrances to the wards and to the other lay iron doors. It was through one of these iron doors that Sauron led them.

The room beyond was lined with bars, which, like the corridor outside, carved the room into segments: in this case, three cells. Cramped beyond the bars, stacked on top of each other, four beds high, stood narrow metal bunks, some of them already occupied by residents who were observing their approach closely.

At one of the emptier cells, Sauron opened the cell door and ushered Iestir into the narrow space. Iestir seemed to be glad to leave them as he fair hurried into the cell and did not look back as Sauron closed and locked the door behind him. As Lindir followed Sauron back out of the room, he looked back a few times to observe Iestir climbing the ladder lining the bunk stack to take the topmost bed.

~*~

Chapter 38

“Lindir,” Glorfindel ventured one night, one night whose date he warranted neither of them now remembered. He did remember, however, that the moon had been especially bright that night and that until the small hours, they had been sitting on the window seat, Lindir nestled with his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder, Glorfindel leaning against the window frame.

They had been sitting there and listening to the minstrels lullabying on the greensward ever Glorfindel had woken around midnight and noticed Lindir sitting there on the seat. He had quietly joined him, silently marvelling all the while at the absorbed expression on Lindir’s face as the smaller elf listened.

So, when the minstrels finally retired and they retired to the blankets of their own bed, and Lindir had snuggled up to him, he had ventured, “Lindir.”

“Hm?” Lindir’s voice was soft and sleepy.

“Do you know how to play an instrument?”

Lindir made a soft amused noise in his throat. “Nay. Why do you ask?”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

Lindir made another noise and shifted his head to look at him. “Aye, I would dearly like to learn how to play an instrument,” he said, with a smile. “But Glorfindel, you are so busy and I fear I will be a slow student.”

“I would hardly notice such an imposition.” Glorfindel stroked Lindir’s hair and smiled back at him. “So would you like me to teach you a little something?”

Lindir nodded.

“What instrument?” When Lindir shrugged, Glorfindel thought for awhile. Then he kissed the top of his head. “You already have a pretty voice and it is seemly that an elf named ‘singer’ would sing, is it not? How about I train your voice?”

“Humph. Singers may sound fair or ill, Glorfindel, and I do not think my voice sounds the former.”

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.” Glorfindel shook his head. “You have a very sweet, clear voice, and although it is roughened, I find it lends the voice an intriguing texture. I think it could be very pleasing to the ear, with a little training.”

Lindir smiled and snuggled closer to him. “Well, thank you, and I hope so too. I look forward to your lessons.”

“As do I. I think some lessons will help to cheer you. You have been rather subdued lately. Ever since the boys travelled away with their friends to visit Lothlórien, it has been quiet in Rivendell for you.”

“Well, Laiglas and Linden are still here,” Lindir said. “But you are right. It is very quiet without the others.” He sighed. “I will be glad to have something new to occupy me.”

“I am glad to hear it.” And Glorfindel kissed him once more.

~*~

Glorfindel had wondered indeed, when he had seen the speed and skill with which Lindir had picked up singing, if Lindir had had previous training. He could not remember if he had asked. If he had, he had not remembered the answer.

He looked at the shimmering carpet of bluebells through which his horse was picking its way, a few feet behind Ecthelion's horse. Newly released from winter's icy grasp, the dewy blossoms glowed in the sunlight.

He should have taken Lindir to the Citadel at Forlond and made arrangements for Lindir to perform in the King's old halls. Why had he never done so? That hall had such a beautiful acoustic; it was renown for it. Why had Lindir never made arrangements independently of him to perform in it? Had he, Glorfindel, held him back? Had he not encouraged Lindir enough? Lindir certainly had not travelled as much as he should have considering his popularity. Why, elves would travel to Imladris for the purpose of listening to him or to ask for his musical advice.

Glorfindel looked bitterly at the blue carpet. He should have told Lindir to travel. And for that matter, he should have listened more carefully to Lindir's desires. He should have noticed more. He should have registered that Laiglas, Lindo, and Linden were not entirely elvish. He should have demanded Lindir's history from Erestor and Elrond. He should have investigated Lindir's history in Lindon. It would have been so easy to track down his history; it was not as if Lindir had changed his name.

Elbereth, he had not even known the name of Lindir's father!

Did he not love Lindir? Were not lovers supposed to be jealous? Obsessive? Craving to know everything and anything about the object of their desire? Was his lack of curiosity proof of some lack in the truth of their relationship? Why did he not know everything?

“How long have you known Estel?” he asked suddenly. He looked up from the bluebells and frowned when he realised that Ecthelion was no where in sight. “Ecthelion?”

There was no response.

“Ecthelion!” he called, louder this time.

“Over here, you sluggard!” Ecthelion’s voice came from what sounded like the edge of the woods and some hundred or so feet away from where Glorfindel currently sat on his patient beast. When Glorfindel found him, standing beside his horse at the edge of the wood and within sight of the road, Ecthelion looked at him in amusement. “A little lost in thought, hmm?”

“How long have you known Estel?” Glorfindel asked him. He glanced at the bluebells hiding the ground, thought it looked too damp to dismount for his liking, and then back at Ecthelion.

“Since the Second Age of the Sun,” Ecthelion replied. “Apparently he was murdered by orcs on the slopes of the Misty Mountains… like so many others before him, though I know of none who was stupid enough to think himself friends with his own murderers,” he added in a low mutter.

“Oh.” Glorfindel was surprised. “So was I here when he arrived?”

“You were, but he did not venture into politics until after you left these shores to return to Middle-earth. I only knew him through my brother. Estel was only a volunteer who helped out with thralls, then. You would not have been interested in learning about him at that time; you had no interest in thralls and their affairs.” Ecthelion patted his horse and then climbed back onto the animal. “Should we continue on our way?”

“Aye.”

~*~

Days rolled into weeks. The monotony of sleeping and eating and defecating and fearing Eönwë's daily visit had soaked into his bones.

Then one day, almost a month since Elrond's visit, Elrond returned, Eönwë beside him.

Elrond smiled at Lindir as he approached the bed. He held a small leather case in his hand. “Greetings, Lindir. How are you feeling? Eönwë told me about the pregnancy. Congratulations.”

Lindir smiled faintly, not quite knowing how to respond to the reference to his pregnancy with Eönwë standing so close and with Elrond's smile showing nothing, but happiness for him.

“You look pale,” Elrond said as he sat down beside Lindir and placed the case down on the sheets beside him. He took Lindir's right arm gently in his hand and felt the pulse for a short while. Then he looked at Lindir and said, “I have to take a sample of your blood. I have been asked to compare it with those of your children in order to confirm parentage.”

Lindir's brow knitted. He nodded and smiled slightly when Elrond smiled at him and rolled up Lindir's sleeve before opening the case and taking a covered needle and vial out of it. Lindir noticed that there were a number of labelled vials of blood already in the case. He had read his and Linden's names on two of vials and was reading Lindo's name on another when he suddenly felt the needle being slid deftly into his vein. He winced. A few moments, Elrond pulled it out and Lindir looked back to see that the vial in Elrond's hand was now full of blood. Elrond held the hurt firmly for a few moments with the thumb of his free hand before turning away and unscrewing the needle from the vial.

“Are you going to compare the blood here?” Lindir asked when Elrond took his case and made to turn away. Elrond looked back at him and hesitated. Then he smiled. “I can compare them here, if you are happy for me to do so.”

“I would be very happy to watch you at work,” Lindir said. Indeed, he would be very happy to indulge any change to his routine that was not painful.

Elrond nodded, smiled, and looked at Eönwë, who exchanged a look with him, then nodded and jerked his chin towards an icy counter that had suddenly appeared a few feet from the foot of the bed. Elrond went over to it, laid the case carefully down, and began taking out the various vials. There were six in total.

~*~

Glorfindel and Ecthelion find the town with the register. Glorfindel does not remember the town, but at the same time, he suffers from déjà vu about it. He learns about the shrine and visits it one afternoon with Ecthelion. He finds Lindir’s face carved on the wall. Unsettled and suddenly feeling pressed for time at the sight, he tells Ecthelion that he wishes to set off to meet Estel as soon as possible. Ecthelion nods understandingly and welcomes him back to Tirion anytime. They part ways.

The town in which the register of reborn elves was not as close to Mandos as Glorfindel had thought and feared. And, pleasantly, the town felt free of the coldness and despair that he had learned to associate with the House of Waiting. Not even the marble building with golden roof in which the register lay, and which sat embarrassedly amidst the quaint thatched houses on the main street, reminded him of Námo’s dwelling.

The rather glum-looking half-elf who attended to the record was happy, on learning who was asking, to go upstairs and search for the family history of Estel. After a few minutes, he returned to the foyer with two thin folders in hand and looking greatly excited. He showed them to them.

“I am glad you came today,” he said as he beckoned them over to his table and laid out the folders. “As you thought, Lindir is indeed the son of Talagant and the brother of Estel – younger and only brother. They were born in Lindon.”

“Why are you so glad?” Glorfindel asked curiously.

In response, the half-elf opened the topmost folder, which was labelled with Lindir's name, and tapped one of the first few lines of the topmost document with his index finger.

“Deceased, Barad-dur, Second Age of the Sun – date unknown. Houseless.” Glorfindel read. He frowned. “What? But he is not dead!”

The half-elf nodded, managing to look both apologetic and excited at the same time. “It is terrible, but it sometimes happens that elves are reported dead when they are not, and sometimes, another file is created for the elf and the fact that the files belong to the same elf and contain similar details is overlooked.” He showed Glorfindel another file, which was also labelled with Lindir's name and opened it to show him that this file, which contained much the same information as the one before, said nothing on the “date of death” line.

Glorfindel nodded obligingly. “So,” he said, “is it certain that Lindir and Estel are blood brothers and sons of Talagant and Elanor?”

“Oh, more than definitely,” the half-elf said, with a broad smile. “I know Estel personally. However, I did not know that his brother was alive. He would be so joyful to learn that his brother is still alive. Now that you are sure of their relationship, are you off to inform him of the happy news?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Aye,” he said, meeting the half-elf's broad smile. “We shall be travelling straight to his orphanage from here.”

On leaving the building to head back to their horses, which they had left at the stables of a local inn, Glorfindel noticed that Ecthelion had not said anything since their meeting with the half-elf.

“You are rather quiet,” he said.

Ecthelion looked sidelong at him. “I have just realised,” he said quietly, “that we shall part tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

Ecthelion smiled faintly. “Glorfindel,” he said, “I will not travel closer to Mandos... and besides, Estel and I are not friends.”

Glorfindel did not know what to say in response. They walked for a few minutes in silence.

Then Ecthelion suddenly stopped walking. Glorfindel stopped and looked back at him. Ecthelion smiled at him, more brightly this time. “Let me show you something,” he said, “something which you must see whilst you are in this town. It is a little known gem of a building – beautifully constructed. I just thought of it as we left the registry building; if Lindir was thought to be deceased and one of the Houseless, it is likely that he is in it.”

They left the main street and walked down some smaller ones until they came to a wide park. At one side lay a thick grove of firs that Glorfindel initially thought surrounded a farmhouse. As they neared, however, and came into the dry, still air beneath the boughs, he saw that it was no farmhouse at all or at least, if it was one, then it was no ordinary one. No ordinary one at all for as they neared Glorfindel could see from its white carven walls, domed shape, absent chimneys, and most distinctly – absent wood stacks, that it was not an abode.

Then, as they broke out beneath the last tree surrounding the building, his eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness!” he exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness!” And he said this because every inch of the smooth marble dome, with a curved roof that licked upwards in the tall turf of hair of one of its carven subjects, seemed to be carven over with faces – meticulously, beautifully, incredibly – their silent eyes obsidian black and yet seeming also to flash with a myriad colour as they passed and made for the entrance, as if the subjects themselves were entreating for their viewers’ attention.

“What is this place?” he asked, turning to Ecthelion on the threshold. “Who built it? Whose faces are carven in the rock? It is beautiful!”

“It is a shrine, of sorts,” Ecthelion said. “It was constructed near the beginning of the Third Age; after the Battle of Dagorlad when many spirits came to Mandos to be resurrected. Some hundreds of elven families in Eldamar, supported by some Maiar, saw how swiftly the warriors of Dagorlad were being resurrected and became convinced that their own deceased loved ones who had still not returned had – for some reason – not entered Mandos and were lost forever until the end of Arda.”

“A shrine to the Houseless, then?”

“Aye. With the support of one of Aulë’s servants, the families built this shrine and carved into it the faces of those who they believe are Houseless and who will not return before the world is utterly remade.”

“Why is it so far out from the centre of Eldamar?”

Ecthelion shook his head. “I am not sure. Some say it is here because the Halls of Mandos are near this site, but I believe it is here because the idea of honouring Houseless spirits made the Noldorin monarchs uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean? How is this shrine different from a memorial shrine?”

“It is different because the chief families involved in its building were more interested in raising awareness of Houseless spirits and the multitude of reasons for elves to... choose death over life. It frightened many people on Finn’s council; they thought it might make people sympathetic towards criminals who were not Houseless, but rather interned long-term in Mandos for their crimes. They made comparisons between choosing not to be reborn and suicide. It was ugly. And then, there were some families that wished to raise awareness as to experimentation on elves by some of the Ainur... and I think it was that which sealed Tirion's decision to not have the shrine beyond its borders.” Ecthelion shrugged. “It is done now. Come inside and have a look at the record of Houseless spirits.” He beckoned Glorfindel to follow him through the curved arch, clustered all about with faces – some fair, some plain, few ugly – and into the shadowy interior and the quiet silvery light of a single lamp that dangled by a chain from the ceiling.

There were no seats. Instead, there was a walkway to an altar in the centre of the dome and beneath it, Glorfindel was startled to see the floor plunge downwards from the walls filled with faces – down, down, down like an enormous well until he could see no more. All the way, the faces spread – some laughing, some grim, some watchful, some expressionless – all looking at them wherever he looked and wherever he moved. A thin ladder, its arms also covered with faces, supported the base of the altar and the connecting walkway. Apparently one was supposed to climb down to view a loved one’s face. Glorfindel watched Ecthelion walk forward and followed after him.

On top of the altar and amidst the faces that covered it as well, there lay a large flat area and within it, a roll-holder. Ecthelion opened it and removed the thick scroll contained therein and placed it down upon the altar. “These are the names of those whose faces are shown on the walls,” he said as stepped to one side and allowed Glorfindel to peruse the list.

“You said hundreds of families,” Glorfindel said. “There are thousands of names on here.”

“Aye, thousands indeed,” Ecthelion said. “Some families have only one member who has been reborn, but one who remembers many who died.”

“I see a name crossed out here.”

“Ah. There are a few elves – a very few elves – who were believed lost and who, instead were, through some quirk of the bureaucracy, resurrected but not reunited. Those names have been crossed off the list.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly as he furled through the list. “Curious,” he commented at last. “Beautiful… and very sobering.” He searched for Lindir's name and his face sobered when he did indeed find it.

“And a little unnerving as well, I hope?”

“That too,” Glorfindel acceded, as he placed down the scroll and proceeded to put it back in its holder.

Ecthelion laughed. “I will wait for you outside.” His footsteps sounded loudly on the walkway as he left the dome and returned to the grey sunshine of morning in the grove outside.

Glorfindel smiled to himself and carefully put the holder back in the position in which he had found it. Then, as he turned away, on a whim, for he truly doubted Lindir's face would be visible from the walkway, he crouched and peered over the edge of the walkway.

Then he frowned. Some twelve or so faces below him and to his left... Was that Lindir's face? Still frowning, he rose, unhooked the lamp from its hook and swung himself down onto the ladder. He climbed down until he was level with the face and then, on gazing at it more closely, felt a smile creep across his face. “Ha!” he said softly to himself. “Found you.”

He gazed at Lindir's frozen face a while longer, then on hearing Ecthelion call him, hurriedly climbed back up to the walkway.

Ecthelion watched him alight on the walkway, his face curious. “Did you find him?” When Glorfindel did not answer immediately, Ecthelion spoke again, his voice softer and tinged a little with concern, “Oi. Glorfindel?”

“I am fine,” Glorfindel said, looking back at him. He smiled. “I did find him.”

Ecthelion looked at him a while. Then he chuckled and stepped away from the entrance to the shrine. “Come, my friend,” he said. “Let us return to the inn. I will stay the night and then we shall part tomorrow morning.”

~*~

“This is strange,” Elrond said suddenly. He raised his head from the lens of the microscope down which he had been silently staring for what felt to Lindir like most of the morning and looked at Lindir and Eönwë.

“What is strange about it?” Lindir asked.

“The samples do not match,” Elrond said. He looked at Eönwë. “Are you sure that these samples are labelled correctly?”

Eönwë nodded curtly. “What is strange about them?”

“Sauron's parentage of Linden and Lindo,” Elrond said. “With Glorfindel's sample, it is plain that he is the sire of Glingal, but when I compare Sauron's blood with Linden's and Lindo's, I see no indication that Sauron is their sire.”

“Is there any relationship at all?”

“Well...” Elrond shook his head. “Nay. Sauron is not the father.”

Eönwë's brow rose slightly. Then the Maia reached into his pocket and took out three more vials of blood. “Compare these to Sauron's blood.” He held them out to the half-elf.

“Who are the donors?” Elrond asked, looking at the vials. “They are unlabelled.”

“Just compare them for me,” Eönwë said.

Elrond's lips pursed, but he nodded and took the vials.

What felt like hours later, Elrond finally looked up again from the microscope. He looked confused. “This may sound rather strange,” he said, looking at Eönwë, “but Sauron's sample is an exact match to the first sample, a half match to the second sample, and… the second sample and Lindir's sample look to be the parents of the donor of the third sample.”

Eönwë nodded. He looked unsurprised. “Look at the samples of Linden's and Lindo's blood. Then tell me, judging from what you have just seen, if Sauron could be at least a partial sire of Linden and Lindo.”

Elrond nodded, looked reassuringly at Lindir, and bent his head back to his work. Some time later, he lifted it, looked at Eönwë, and asked, “How did you know?”

“I did not know,” Eönwë said.

“Who donated that blood?”

“I cannot reveal that information,” Eönwë said.

“What do you mean, you cannot reveal it? How am I supposed to confirm or disprove Sauron's parentage if I have no idea whose blood samples I am investigating? Is this third sample from the foetus?” Here, he looked at Lindir. “Is Glorfindel not the father, then, Lindir?”

Eönwë's responding smile was polite, but cold. “You have been of great help, Elrond.”

“What about Lindir? Does he not have a right to know the parentage of his children?” Elrond replied.

“As I said,” Eönwë said quietly, “you have been of great help. The investigation is now over. Please pack up your equipment. I will escort you back to your rooms.”

This time, it was Lindir who smiled at Elrond, though his smile was weak. Now it was Elrond's turn to feel frustration before Eönwë's riddles. As he watched Eönwë and Elrond leave the room, he exhaled and closed his eyes. He did not know what to make of their conversation. Would it ever be made clear to him? Was Eönwë simply playing more games? Had he switched and mixed the samples? Or was there truth in what Elrond had purported to have seen? Was Sauron only a half-father to Linden and Lindo? Was there another sire? Why had Elrond not produced blood samples from Laiglas and Gloredhel? How had the blood samples been procured in the first place?

A sudden icy breeze brushed his hands and he looked up to see that Eönwë had returned. The Maia approached and sat down beside him on the bed. Lindir looked away.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Eönwë said shortly in his cold voice, “You will resume contributing to the court tomorrow. A member of the court and I will return to interview you privately in the morning.” Then he rose and left again.

Chapter 39

The following day, Lindir stirred to find Eönwë sitting beside him on the bed and looking attentively at him. Lindir hurriedly lowered his eyes when Eönwë caught his gaze. On looking away, he noticed a clean set of clothes and two towels lying folded on Eönwë's lap.

Eönwë touched his arm briefly. “Come,” he said in an unusually subdued voice. “You are to bathe before your meeting with Lord Manwë.”

Lord Manwë? Had not Eönwë told him that he was to resume attending court last night? Nay, wait, had Eönwë perhaps told him that he would be meeting someone in private? Lindir felt confused. He dared not ask for clarification so was both relieved, grateful, and frightened when Eönwë read his mind and chose to answer his query.

“You are not to return to court, in person or through a medium. Instead, you have been granted an audience with Lord Manwë, who, as you already know, is one of the judges.”

Lord Manwë... wanted to see him? Lindir looked numbly at the bedsheets. What could Manwë want with him? What could Eönwë's master want with him?

“Come,” Eönwë said again. He rose from Lindir's side and walked over to the wall facing the end of the bed. As he did, a section of the wall crumbled. As the crystals of ice melted in the air, Lindir saw that beyond the wall lay a vast sunny courtyard lined with tall columns. The steaming water of the baths inset in the marble foundations shimmered where they caught Arien's morning rays.

He hesitantly rose and headed over to the doorway. He half expected Eönwë, who had not crossed the threshold and who was watching him with a closed expression, to suddenly bring the wall heaving up out of the floor like an iceberg rising from the ocean depths.

But nothing happened. On the threshold, he glanced once more at Eönwë and then stepped past him to tread upon the sun heated stones. He flinched at first on feeling the warmth against the soles of his feet, and then, growing more used to the heat and bolder in the sunshine, he walked over to the bath and descended the steps to sink into its embrace.

He soaked there for a while, enjoying the caress of Arien's rays upon his upper body and face. His clothes irritated him and after a while, he pulled them off. As he laid them on the side of the bath, he noticed that Eönwë had disappeared from the doorway. He looked around and started when he noticed that Eönwë was standing a few feet from his wet clothes and leaning against one of the columns. The Maia was not looking at him, but at the steps that descended down into the waters, no expression on his face. Lindir took the opportunity to study the chiselled face, so often drawn into a sneer. He wondered why Eönwë despised him so. Why had Eönwë chosen him as a subject on which to take out his anger? Why had Eönwë raped him? Why had he been cursed with Eönwë's beastly child?

Eönwë suddenly stirred and turned his head to look at him. “Regardless of my reasons for impregnating you, do not take out your hatred of me on the child,” he said quietly.

 _Like you take out your hatred on me?_ Lindir thought resentfully. He looked away. _Why have a child with me if you hate me so much?_

“I said that not out of affection for our unborn child, Lindir,” Eönwë said coldly. “I said it because I am not the only father of the child growing inside you.”

Lindir blinked. Then he frowned and thought back to the confusion that he had witnessed on Elrond's face the previous day. He thought back to the three strange vials of blood that Eönwë had asked Elrond to compare to Sauron's blood sample.

“Was the blood of the foetus in one of the vials?”

“Aye. And the sire's was in another.”

“Your blood?”

“And another's. A sample identical to the defendant's.”

Lindir frowned. Sauron's blood? “I do not understand. Who is the other sire?” he asked then. “Besides you.” He looked back at Eönwë.

Eönwë looked sidelong at him, then he looked back at the steps. “With regards to blood, he is the half-sire of three of your other children.”

“Sauron?” Lindir asked confusedly.

“Incorrect. Sauron the Maia played no part in the siring of the child inside you.” Eönwë was silent a few moments. Then he stirred and said, “Lindir, what do you know of the Valar?”

“Eh...” Lindir swallowed and he frowned as he turned his attention to recalling what he had learned in his history classes all those years ago as a student at Gil-galad's court. “Well, they are the greater spirits of the Ainur, which were the first entities formed by Eru, the One. And along with the rest of the Ainur, they formed a great choir...” He faltered when Eönwë exhaled heavily.

“Can the Valar reproduce?”

Lindir considered this for a few moments. He knew of no Valarin children, but because the Valar were made of the same stuff as the Maiar... “Well, the Maiar can so I assume...”

“They cannot,” Eönwë supplied. He did not look annoyed, but Lindir flinched all the same. “The more powerful an Ainur, the more infertile.”

Lindir frowned. What did this have to do with the secret half-sire of his children?

“Curiously, after the birth of the Firstborn, it was observed that Maia-Elf couples were more fertile than Maia-Maia couples. So tests were done to see whether Vala-Elf couples would bear any children. All of the tests were unsuccessful, though they did inspire the creation of a number of new species.”

“What tests?”

Eönwë smiled thinly at him. “Conducted by an entity you know as Morgoth.”

Lindir felt a sudden chill creep up his arms and spine. He shivered.

“However, in the Second Age of the Sun, it was discovered that if a Vala entered the body of a servant Maia and fused their blood and sperm together, they could increase their fertility to such an extent as to be able to sire a child with an elf.”

Lindir stared at him confusedly. Was Eönwë talking about him here? But he had only known Sauron. Morgoth had been thrown out into the Void at the end of the War of Wrath.

Eönwë snorted. “If only he _had_ been so punished,” he said bitterly. “Nay, Lindir, from the results of the blood tests that Elrond has done on members of your family and the blood of my own master, who is Lord Melkor's twin, Melkor and Sauron are the sires of Lindo and Linden.”

“That cannot be,” Lindir said, feeling greatly puzzled. Melkor? The father of his children? His eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Stop lying to me! Stop trying to confuse me!”

“Well,” Eönwë continued, after glancing irritatedly at him, “we can only go on the memories of thralls for proof of Sauron's contribution to the siring of Melkor's children. The blood of the defendant confined on this mountain under the name and guise of Sauron only has Lord Melkor's blood in his veins.”

“So Sauron is Melkor?”

“The Sauron acting as defendant is Melkor, aye,” Eönwë agreed. “But from the memories, Sauron was present; you can see it in your own memories – those two personalities. You associate one with Annatar and the other with the reserved brilliance that poured over experiments in Barad-dûr's laboratories.”

Lindir faltered. Eönwë spoke truth there. Those two personalities: Annatar with his myriad of mysterious emotions; Sauron with his constantly closed expression.

“The whereabouts of the real Sauron are unknown. It is suspected that his spirit may have been utterly consumed by Melkor's during the long years of sharing a single body.”

“What about... the child inside me?” Lindir asked then.

“That child was jointly sired by myself and Lord Manwë.”

“But why? Why jointly sire a child? Why with me?” Why rape him?

“It is more a matter of wanting a child, regardless of the identity of the mother,” Eönwë said, sending Lindir a look that clearly stated that if he had been able to choose the identity of the mother, then he would most certainly not have chosen him. “You cannot imagine the depth of my master's yearning for a child and how much the possibility... and now... after last night, the evidence, has affected him.” His eyes narrowed and he looked away from Lindir's aghast face and stated broodingly, “It is a miracle... and a travesty.”

Lindir continued to stare at him. He wanted to ask questions. Had he really known Melkor intimately? Had Melkor always been there behind Sauron's eyes? Really truly? And, though he hated and feared Eönwë, had it been Eönwë's will as well as physical shape behind the rape? Or was it Manwë who was to be feared?

Eönwë steered the conversation in a different direction. “Neither Lindo nor Linden seem to have fully accepted that Sauron is their father, so that they know that Melkor is also their sire is unlikely,” he said. “But Laiglas, eldest of Melkor's children, fled the first night following your confinement, and before we could obtain a sample of his blood.”

“He fled? He no longer dwells in your house?” Lindir cried. “Where is he?”

“He is in Lórien, with Irmo, and refuses to see us. But it no longer matters whether he speaks to us or not. Now that we know that Sauron and Melkor are the sire of Lindo and Linden, we can be certain that they are also Laiglas' sire.”

There followed a long silence. Lindir looked absently down at the water and noticed that the pads of his fingers were wrinkling.

“This is not to be discussed with anyone besides myself and my master,” continued Eönwë. “As far as everyone else is concerned, including some members of the House of Manwë, Melkor is outside Arda, cast into the Void, and if anyone notices your pregnancy, it is Glorfindel’s. Do you understand?”

Lindir nodded mutely, though he doubted he could convince Glorfindel to pretend to be the father of the child, much less to believe that he was the sire. “What about after my meeting with Lord Manwë? Will I continue to stay in your room?”

“I do not know. You will know after the meeting.”

Lindir swallowed. Ilúvatar help him. Only months ago, he had been brought to tears by the realisation that his fears that Sauron was Laiglas', Lindo's and Linden's sire were true. The Maiar as a race bewildered, frustrated and frequently frightened him. But the Valar... the Valar were beyond wonder. To the Valar he imagined himself as being comparable to was mere dust, a mere worker ant amidst the clamouring and bustling ant hills of Arda, an entity of the smallest kind who knew naught of the great plan of Ilúvatar, and whose life story could have no great effect upon it. His life, his decisions, his family, his dilemmas and tears, were so small as to be of no importance to them... Even his dalliance with Sauron, had had hope of being viewed paternalistically by the Valar a merely an odd union between a disobedient subordinate and an insignificant child of the Firstborn.”

But this... to have borne Melkor's children? To be currently bearing a, nay, _the_ child of Manwë Súlimo, Lord of all Arda, within him? How had this come to be? Nay, nay, it was impossible! This was impossible! It was surely a mistake. Eönwë had to be playing another game with him. What of Elbereth? Was not she Manwë’s lady? Surely she would have objected to her lord's decision?

Eönwë suddenly pushed himself off the column. “Come,” he said then. “It is time to venture to my lord's halls.”

Lindir waded across the bath and made his way up the steps to where the Maia stood waiting for him with dry clothes and a towel. He reached for the towel and reflexively cringed when Eönwë did not hand it to him as expected, but instead began towelling him down. After patting dry his hair, chest, and abdomen, Lindir winced and closed his eyes tightly when the Maia reached between his thighs to dry his genitals. He had not been milked yet and his slight erection bobbed upward under the brief caress of the soft material. He wondered if Eönwë would move to milk him or would tell him to do it himself.

But Eönwë said nothing of his arousal. Instead, the Maia quickly dried his legs, handed him his loincloth and robe, and told him to get dressed.

~*~

When one thought of those with secrets, it was easy to expect that they would behave mysteriously, that they would have moments where they were distant and their thoughts were unreadable.

With Lindir, although Glorfindel had been aware of the unknown history of the elf, there had been so such awkward moments for him as Lindir’s companion. Even in hindsight, it was hard to recall any moments when Lindir had not seemed entirely devoted to him and his children, and entirely “in the moment” at Rivendell. It was as if the elf had completely dissociated himself from his former life… as if his first step within Imladris had marked not so much a new chapter in his life, but as if he had utterly burned the first book and begun to write another. As if he had drained the ocean and not merely turned the tide.

Perhaps he had simply been blind. Perhaps he was too tolerant of silence in Lindir, as indeed he was tolerant of it in others. Perhaps it was the elf’s silence and shortness of words that should have warned him.

“Ecthelion.”

“Aye?” His friend looked across from where he sat on the other side of the table, a large map of the region westwards spread out before him, in his hand, a pencil with which he was scribbling notes that Glorfindel presumed were to help him find his way to Estel’s residence.

“You and your lady…”

“Aye? What of us?”

“Do you talk much?”

Ecthelion raised an eyebrow. “More than some. Less than others. Why?”

Glorfindel looked at his friend’s tolerant expression. Then he shook his head and looked back down at his half-eaten breakfast. “Never mind.”

There was a long silence. Then Ecthelion sighed and tapped the map. “I have indicated the main villages – in short, those with inns – between here and the village in which Estel dwells. I have also traced what I think is the best route, or rather, what the innkeeper, who as you recall I spoke to when you were collecting your breakfast, thinks is the best route.”

Ecthelion had marked the best route? Glorfindel suddenly felt an intense burst of irritation towards Ecthelion. Did the elf somehow think he was unable to obtain assistance with his travels on his own or was likely to become lost? Who was the one who had gone back to Middle-earth and spent countless days travelling alone in the wilderness or leading troops to battle? “Thank you,” he said shortly.  
Ecthelion glanced at him, but said nothing. Instead he wrote one last message on the map, then folded and pushed it across the table to him. “This is all I can do for you now,” he said, looking at him gravely. “Except, of course, to wish you well and good fortune.”

Glorfindel nodded. Why was he feeling so grumpy? Ecthelion was simply trying to do what he could for him. “Thank you.”

Ecthelion swallowed. Then he nodded and reached across the table to take Glorfindel’s hands in his own. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I am your friend.”

“As I am yours. Thank you, Ecthelion. Thank you so much.”

Ecthelion just nodded, released his hands, and rose. “It is time for you to leave, my friend,” he said. “I expect to hear from you after you reach Estel’s residence, or sooner, if it is urgent.”

“Aye.” Glorfindel rose and followed him to the stable door. Just within, he took Ecthelion and embraced him tightly. After thanking him profusely yet again, he released him, turned, and mounted his ready horse. A last wave to Ecthelion and then he had left the stables and soon, the village.

~*~

There was a tremendous wind blowing outside Manwë’s and Varda's halls and when Lindir and Eönwë landed on the doorstep before the closed doors, Lindir immediately shrunk against Eönwë's taller frame in an effort to shield himself from the searching blast.

That was when he looked down through the crystal doorstep and realised, with shaking knees, that they were no longer on the summit of Taniquetil. Rather, they were above it. Gasping, he looked back behind them and saw a crystal stairway leading down from the doorstep to the topmost peak of Taniquetil. Oh Ilúvatar! Oh Ilúvatar, how high up were they?

Eönwë's hand tightened on his. “Come,” the Maia said, and Lindir looked around and noticed that the front doors of the halls had opened. He followed Eönwë into the vast silent hall that lay beyond and was relieved to find the air in the room considerably more still and warm than that outside. The curved walls and roof looked like they were woven from the star studded sky. Beneath his feet, the stone felt warm and dry.

Facing the front doors, at the other end of the hall, stood two armchairs upon a thickly woven blue and white carpet. As Lindir and Eönwë drew close to the silent setting, Lindir saw a seated figure slowly materialise on one of the chairs.

Manwë was tall and slim. His ancient face, framed with long white hair and lined with many cares, was neither kindly nor unkind. The grey eyes gazed at him closely, piercing and searching, yet without judgement. It was discomforting and yet bearable and strangely familiar all at the same time.

Eönwë released Lindir's hand and knelt silently before the seated King of Arda. Lindir hesitated, then did likewise. Years in Imladris under Elrond's relaxed rule had taught him not to bow.

“Arise, Lindir,” Manwë said after a few moments. Lindir looked up and rose. Beside him, Eönwë also rose. Manwë looked at him intently for a few moments longer, then smiled and inclined his head. Lindir nervously inclined his head in response. He wondered what Manwë had seen in him. Curiously, he watched Manwë look then at Eönwë. A look seemed to pass between them, then Eönwë bowed and faded from sight. Manwë looked back at Lindir and smiled once more.

“Please sit.” He gestured at the other chair. When Lindir had done so, Manwë added in his quiet voice, “Forgive Eönwë and I our silent conversation. It would have taken too long had we conducted it in High Elven.”

Lindir smiled and inclined his head nervously.

“You have many questions, but let us leave them until the end of the interview. You left the court after detailing how you came to enter Barad-dur,” Manwë said. “Please continue your tale of your times as a thralls of Barad-dur.”

Lindir inclined his head and cast his mind back to his last session at court and to where he had left off.

~*~

Glorfindel stared in frustration at the map, then up at the lifeless topography around him, then back down at the map, then back up. Nay, nay, nay, this could not be! He was an expert traveller, a marvellous map-reader, a renown captain of many legions. He could not be lost! He was immediately south of the lake – that silly little blue-coloured crescent on the map – and the forest was right there! Immediately southeast! He had even seen a rare signpost at the fork leading into that forsaken bit of turf that clearly indicated that the muddy track through the forest led _under_ the mountains, out of Elvenhome, and into the lands of Aulë. So he _had_ to be on the road that led towards the last village. So where by Ilúvatar _was_ it? He should have wandered straight into it by now! The dot on his map was right smack bang immediately… immediately south of him on one of the mountains. He should be able to see it! He had a clear view of the mountains from here.

“Oh CURSE it!” he swore. “Who is the imbecile who wrote this? Curse you, Ecthelion!”

He squinted westwards, but could discern nothing. So he looked north, then east, then south at the mountains, and then, on spying nothing whatsoever that looked alive save for a squirrel that chattered and ran away when he glared at it, moaned.

“I simply cannot be lost,” he muttered to himself. “Perhaps someone messed with the distances.” He tucked the annoying piece of parchment into the front pocket of his tunic, thanked Ulmo for not drowning him in the unsavoury-looking contents of the grey clouds overhead, and told his horse to continue travelling westwards. The road ended at the Halls of Waiting high up in the mountains in a day or so. Hopefully he would find someone who was familiar with the local topography before then, but if not, he could be assured of finding someone there who could help him.

The day lagged away. Ulmo teased him a bit with the weather, sprinkling a little rain on him, then letting up just when Glorfindel had found shelter. Then, as Glorfindel came to a completely exposed moor, the Vala cheerfully proceeded to let loose with the entire contents of his carefully coiffured rain clouds.

As Glorfindel reached the trees at the other side of the moors, by now entirely drenched and fiercely cursing everything from rain to the deepest crevasses of the Great Sea Belegaer – he was even thinking about removing the by-now terribly irritating jingly bells off the front of his horse’s headdress – he suddenly noticed a tall brown-cloaked form sheltering beneath one of the largest trees.

Things suddenly did not seem quite so dismal. “Excuse me!” he called, and turned his horse towards the tree. However, as he neared the tree and its sheltering occupant, whose face was hidden, his horse suddenly snorted and began to back away. Confused at his horse, whose senses Glorfindel usually did not fault, Glorfindel dismounted and told the beast to wait for him under a nearby tree. Then, pushing back his hood, he walked over to the cloaked form.

The hood was so deep that it completely masked the other’s face. Glorfindel, supposing that the other had a reason for not wishing to show his face, stopped a few feet away from him and said, with a hopeful smile. “I wonder if you could assist me. I am looking for the Last Village and had some trouble with my map.”

The form was silent for a few moments, but Glorfindel sensed the other scrutinising him closely. Then the other stirred and said in High Elven, his voice affected by a slight lisp, “Assuming you took the same road on which you arrived here, you rode straight past it.”

Glorfindel felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He turned and looked back at the road. Was he going blind? He had heard old age did funny things to one. Like Círdan’s beard. Apparently that had simply popped out one day, though Glorfindel had always privately thought that there was a different story behind it. “Truly? I looked hard, but I could not see it. Perhaps there is something wrong with my map.”

The form hesitated. Then it withdrew a long, gloved hand from its pocket. “Let me look at your map.”

Glorfindel gratefully withdrew it and handed it to him. As he drew closer and observed the other unfold the map, he suddenly noticed that the other had rather peculiar hands. The other’s thumb and little finger were unusually long – as long as the other fingers, in fact. In addition, each finger suddenly became unnaturally thin and pointy for about an inch at its end. And lastly, they were so neatly arranged around the palm that they reminded Glorfindel of the tips of maple leaves.

“We are here,” the form said, tapping a spot on the map with one of the odd fingers. Glorfindel nodded, looking at the spot and noticing that according to the map, he should have come within sight of the village a few hours ago… exactly when he had expected to see it. The finger moved to tap the spot indicating the village. “You should have come within sight of it a few hours ago.”

“Aye, but I did not see it.”

“That is odd.” The form looked straight at him. Beneath the hood, Glorfindel caught a glimpse of bemused golden eyes. Then the form looked back down at the map. “You do know that the village is beneath the mountain, do you not?”

Beneath the mountain? “Ah…” Glorfindel felt his lips spread into a wide, abashed smile. “Nay, I did not.”

“Well that explains it, then,” the form said, sounding faintly amused. “Where are you headed there, Stranger?”

“To the residence of an elf named Estel, son of Talagant. I believe it is an orphanage.”

“It _is_ an orphanage,” the form corrected him. “I was raised there.”

Glorfindel was surprised and very, very relieved. “Oh, excellent.”

The form looked back at him and his strange golden-coloured eyes regarded him curiously for a few moments in silence. Then he looked back at the map. “Pardon my curiosity, but why are you visiting the orphanage?”

“Estel invited me. I am a friend of his brother, Lindir.”

“Lindir is alive?”

“Aye, he lives with me,” Glorfindel said. “Although at the moment he is on Mount Taniquetil at Sauron’s trial.”

The form hesitated. Then he said, inclining his head. “I am also a friend of Lindir’s. My name is Erelin, son of Niphredil, who also works at the orphanage. Lindir was in charge at my birth.”

Was in charge? Glorfindel boggled. No wonder Lindir had been so relaxed about being pregnant with Gloredhel and Glingal. He inclined his head. “Glorfindel, son of Inglor.”

“You are a member of King Ingwë’s family?”

“Aye.”

There was another silence. Then Erelin stirred and said, “I see that the sun has emerged. May I remove my hood?”

“Of course.” Glorfindel watched curiously at the other raised his hands to draw back the thick material of the hood, then stared when he finally saw Erelin’s smooth, elongate, hairless… and extremely ugly head.

Erelin noticed his taken aback look. Indeed, he seemed to have been looking for it. His scaly golden-coloured face regarded him cautiously for a few moments before finally relaxing and smiling at him. “Part-Maian,” he said by way of explanation. Glorfindel caught a flash of tiny fangs.

“Half-worm?” Glorfindel asked.

“Quarter.” Erelin corrected. “Apparently.” He turned and strode towards the road and to where the muddy road was basking in the sunlight, removing his gloves from his taloned scaly hands as he did so. “I was heading to Mandos to visit my sire, but I think I will find it more interesting if I accompany you to the orphanage.” Now on the road, he looked back at Glorfindel. “Provided, of course, that that is well with your lordship and your merrily jingling stallion?”

“Please call me Glorfindel,” Glorfindel said gratefully, ignoring Erelin’s jibe about his horse’s decorations. “And it is very well with me and, if not well with my horse, he will follow at a short distance anyway.” He whistled to his horse, then moved to Erelin’s side.

“Then that is settled,” Erelin said. “Come.”

Chapter 40

“In addition to the nine wards, each of which was designed to hold twelve elves, there were nine dormitories, each of which also held twelve elves in cell groups of four,” Lindir explained to Manwë, who inclined his head attentively. “There were also eighteen single cells.”

“Two hundred and thirty-four beds in total? Was the floor ever filled to capacity?”

“Nay. In my experience there were never more than two hundred test subjects on the floor at any one time. The death rate was about two to three every month. Suicide and fights with the supervisors took the most lives, followed by childbirth complications. You were most likely to die if you had lived on the floor for less than a year.

“New test subjects came to the testing floor after undergoing a series of... tests to determine their resilience to various abuses of the body and the spirit. These tests fell into two types: firstly, did they possess character traits that would be desirable in their offspring. These tests included extensive beatings, isolation, starvation, and instinctual responses under duress. Secondly, would their bodies be able to survive the trauma of rape? And this tests was done... through rape.

“After successfully completing these tests, an elf would be transported to the testing floor whereupon they would be healed of their physical wounds, infected, inseminated, and confined for the duration of their pregnancy. After the birth, they would stay with their newborn for a few months. At the end of this period, elf and child would usually be permanently separated and the insemination process would begin again.”

“What happened to the offspring?”

“I do not know. I only know of those few that became test subjects or those that died. Most of the surviving offspring left the floor and never returned.”

“And what were your duties on the floor?”

“Along with the man who taught me and the other Secondborn supervisors who came to learn from us shortly after I had started, I was responsible for infecting, inseminating, feeding, cleaning, checking wounds and drains and chains, drugging uncooperative patients, escorting patients between cells and wards, helping out at births, and cleaning up at deaths.” 

“How did the elves respond to having another elf looking after them?”

“At first, they were suspicious of me. But over time, thanks in part to my language skills, I managed to befriend some of them. I always tried to treat each of them with respect and to keep them as comfortable as I could.” A vision suddenly sprang to mind of Halmir and Lindir felt his chin suddenly tremble. He pursed his lips and looked down at his hands, which he had clasped together in his lap. “I am s-sorry.”

Manwë said nothing. But when Lindir finally looked back up he saw that the Vala was smiling kindly at him. He smiled shakily back.

“Tell me about Halmir,” Manwë said gently.

~*~

One day, a few weeks after his first coming to the laboratory floor, Lindir was collecting food dishes from one of dormitories when his supervisor entered and called him. “Lindir.”

“Aye?” Lindir hurriedly collected the last couple of dishes and went over to the man.

“Leave your work for a few moments and come with me,” the man said to him. “I want to show you the private cells today.”

Lindir nodded and after stacking the dishes by the entrance to the dormitory, he curiously followed the man back into the corridor and down towards the entrance to the barred doorway that led to the private cells.

He had been told only the previous day, when he had seen the man coming out of the doorway, and enquired after what lay beyond the doorway, that the eighteen private cells that lay beyond were for high care patients.  
“What do you mean by high care?” Lindir had asked the man.

“It is as it sounds: the patients require a higher degree of care than the other patients.”

“Why? What is different about them?”

“You will see,” the man had said to him.

Now he was to learn why. As Lindir followed the man through the doorway to the cells and into the dimly lit room beyond, he froze. The smell... The silence... He felt a cold prickle run up his spine. Why was it so silent? He scanned the eighteen iron doors inset in the walls of the corridor. The wards smelt of blood and urine and faeces and fear... he had thought he had smelt it all... but this? This was the smell of Eregion's fall all over again. This was ten times the incredible pain that had crippled him when Sauron had touched him. This was the smell of all that a test subject had endured to be chosen for this floor. The cruelty, the suffering, the distress and uncalled for pain. There was nothing but despair

“Currently there are two elves in private cells,” the man told him as he took down the lantern hanging on a hook beside the doorway. He went over to one of the doors and opened it. “Here is that elf whose eyes you helped me to store on your first day here.”

Lindir peered over the man's shoulder and observed the naked elf lying motionless curled up in a foetal position in the far corner of the cell. His arms and legs were in chains. The bandage around his throat had disappeared.

“Is his throat healed?” Lindir wondered if the elf had also ceased his attempts to end his life.

“Aye. He is kept sedated so I have decided not to restrain his jaw. At the end of each day, before his next dose of sedative, he stirs enough to be spoon fed by mouth.”

“Has he been inseminated?”

“Aye. Save for the elves with newborns, all of the elves in cells are with child. He needs to be milked and cleaned daily.”

“Why keep him in a private cell? Why not in the wards?”

“The only elves that belong in the wards are those who are to be infected, inseminated, or who have reproductive complications. They are high care in terms of their pregnancies. The elves here in private cells are low care in terms of their pregnancies, but are high care in terms of the risk they pose to themselves and others. There is a difference.”

“How could an elf be a risk to others? Are they aggressive towards other thralls?”

“Occasionally, they are aggressive to other thralls. I speak more, however, of elves who may provoke other thralls into revolts or group suicide. It is not uncommon. The other elf in these private cells was an elvish captain who has followers amongst the other thralls. Lord Sauron had him isolated as soon as he came in because the elf had already led a number of escape attempts since his capture at Eregion.” The man closed the door. “Come, I will show you to him.”

A captain who was captured in Eregion? Lindir felt both relief and distress on hearing those words. Was it Halmir? Was Halmir still alive? On following the man into the next cell, his heart sank.

Like the elf in the previous cell, the golden haired elf was lying in chains and curled up on his side in the far corner of the cell. Unlike the other elf, however, this elf was drawing shuddering audible breaths. His face was hidden from view by his hair, which was smeared with dirt and blood. Uncertain if it was Halmir, Lindir stepped past the man and went further into the cell. He bit his lower lip as he observed the scars and bruises that riddled the gaunt frame, which heaved with each pained breath.

On seeing a glint of metal around the elf's neck, half obscured by the same fall of hair that kept the face hidden, he knelt down beside the body and reached out to brush back the dry hair. On feeling metal slide beneath the hair, his eyes widened and he stared at the mask and collar that covered the elf's face, jaw, and neck.

There was an opening for the mouth, an opening which, on looking inside, extended into the mouth by way of a thick bar that kept the mouth partially open and the tongue trapped against the floor of the mouth.

Lindir scanned the rest of the mask. There were tubes extending out from the nostrils holes, lined with fresh blood and pus. What were those for? There were no eye holes. Why not? Lindir felt tears spring to his eyes. Then he felt them slip down his face. This was all his own fault! He should have helped Halmir and his followers to escape. Why had he thrown the keys to the orcs? Why? Why? He knew that the other elves were suffering.

“What... what are the-the tubes for?” he asked shakily. He stroked back Halmir's matted hair, pushed it behind the elf's ears.

“To feed him. He refuses food by mouth so we feed him by a tube that runs from his nose to his stomach. His nostrils are bleeding because the tubes irritate the inner lining of his nose, which is not helped by his attempts to pull out the tubes.”

“Why are his eyes covered?”

“To punish him, I think. I do not know for certain; the Dark Lord is the one who put that mask on him.” The man came over then and squatted down beside Lindir. He grasped Lindir's chin and turned Lindir's face towards his own. He looked at Lindir's tear-covered face.

“Do you know this elf?”

Lindir nodded.

The man pursed his lips. “Lord Sauron told me that you are to try looking after him in consultation with him and myself. Do you think you can do this task?”

Lindir looked back at Halmir's masked face. He looked down the scarred body. “What must I do to look after him?” Indeed, how was he supposed to look after Halmir if he could see nothing of the elf's expression? How was he supposed to know if Halmir was in distress... well, he could already tell from the elf's ragged breathing and the blood dripping from the elf's nose that the elf was in pain. Terrible pain.

“Keep him clean, keep him dry, keep him fed, and milk him daily.” The man reached out and touched Halmir's arm with the back of his hand. “He is cold so perhaps your first task could be to supply him with a blanket.” He reached down and felt between the elf's thin legs. Halmir's body flinched, but did not try to move away. “He could do with milking too. Come. I will show you what to do.” He rose and headed back to the door.

“Aye.” Lindir had watched the elves in the dormitories milk themselves, but had never done it for one of them. He rose and followed after the man, feeling sick to the bottom of his stomach.

~*~

“Did you ask Sauron to ease Halmir's suffering?” Manwë asked quietly.

“Aye. The next time I saw Sauron on the floor, I asked him to at least remove the part of Halmir's mask that covered his eyes.”

“And did he?”

“Aye. He did. It helped both Halmir and I. Before, when Halmir had been blind, he had been unable to see where he was defecating and where the floor was wet with urine. He would be covered in his own filth. But with his eyesight restored, his health improved markedly. He still was uncooperative and he would not eat or drink, and would not milk himself, and could not talk with the metal bit in his mouth, but at least he was clean and I no longer had to wash and dry him daily.”

“Did he acknowledge you?”

“Nay. He would look away when I would look at him. For the first few months, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

~*~

Lindir sensed that a change was afoot when he entered Halmir's cell at the end of his shift that day to milk him because the elf was looking at him with a distressed look in his eyes.

“What is the matter, Halmir?” Lindir asked as he knelt down beside the elf and undid the top of the small bottle into which he planned to collect the milk. “I am sorry for being later than usual... again. As I told you a few days ago, I have been looking after three new carers and everything has been delayed as a result.” He pushed back the blanket from Halmir's legs and reached between them to grasp the elf's half-hard erection. He hurriedly withdrew his hand when Halmir drew his legs closer to his swollen abdomen with a sharp hissing noise. At the same time, Halmir reached up with his chained hands to indicate the mask that kept him mute.

Lindir frowned. “Halmir, I cannot remove it unless you agree to eat and drink and not bite on your tongue.”

Halmir looked frustrated. He cried through the bit and dragged his head against the stony floor. Lindir hurriedly reached out and stroked his head in an attempt to still him.

“Hush. If you wish to talk to me, I can remove it for a short period, but you must agree to not bite on your tongue whilst it is off. Do you agree? Nod, if so.”

Halmir nodded, still looking agitated.

Lindir nodded. “Very well. I will go and fetch the key.”

He left the room and shortly returned, the key to the collar and mask in hand. After unlocking the restraints and removing the bit and the tubes as gently as he might, he warned Halmir, when the elf opened his bruised mouth to speak, to remain still a little longer.

“I want to tend the hurts on your face,” he told the frustrated looking elf. “Wait a while. I will answer your questions.”

“What is happening to me, Lindir?” Halmir asked, ignoring Lindir's instruction. “Why am I swelling up? Why do you humiliate every time you visit with your touch?”

Lindir looked closely at the elf. Halmir did not look angry despite his raspy and strangled tone. He looked frustrated and distressed and agitated. “Why do you think I do it?”

“I do not know. I hardly remember how I came to this cell. You tell me!”

Lindir looked at him curiously. “Do you know where you are?”

“Barad-dur.”

“Correct. What is the last thing you remember before coming to this cell?”

“A dungeon in Barad-dur. Pain. Orcs. Being in chains.” Halmir jerked at the chains on his arms. “A Elbereth Gilthoniel.” He followed the hallowed lady's name with a curse. He stilled, breathing heavily.

Lindir pursed his lips. When Halmir looked at him, he ventured, “You are not alone.”

Halmir looked him up and down. Then he said, “Your abdomen is not swelling up like a nodule on a plant's roots.”

“Nay, I was referring to other elves who, like you, are also suffering from your condition on this floor of Barad-dur.”

Halmir exhaled. “Lindir,” he said wearily, “what is wrong with my body? What is happening to me?”

Lindir swallowed. He did not fancy that Halmir would believe him if he simply said that the elf was pregnant. He thought for a few moments longer, then said, “Your body is being experimented on.”

“What sort of experiment?”

Lindir hesitated.

“Lindir?”

~*~

“He did not believe me at first. Indeed, I do not think he believed me even when he said that he did. I think it was only when he went into labour, was shifted to the wards, and actually saw the child come out of him, and saw other pregnant elves, that he realised the full extent of what was happening to him.”

“How did he react to learning that bearing children was the fate that Sauron had planned for him?” Manwë asked.

“He went very quiet,” Lindir said. “He went so quiet that we were worried about how he might treat the child so we kept him in the ward for over a month after the birth and made sure that he fed the child. But our fears that he would hurt the child were unfounded. Although he remained silent and introverted, he did everything that he could to care for the baby.”

“How did he handle parting with the child?”

Lindir sighed. “Too well. I hated that about Halmir. He was so good at parting from his children. I would cry about seeing children leave the floor, but he never showed any emotion.”

“Do you think he had resigned himself to thraldom?”

“Perhaps, for a while,” Lindir said. “I had him moved to a dormitory cell in hope that he would cheer up. He did, and made many friends... and many, many, many – countless – years later, he led a revolt.” He smiled faintly and swallowed, feeling tears returning to his eyes. “Ha, but that one failed as well. And then Sauron took him back to the private cell and gave him a knife, and told him that if he did not kill himself by the end of Sauron's shift, then he would take him down to the orcs quarters and hand him back to them.” And here, Lindir's chin trembled and he burst into tears. 

“So you saw Halmir kill himself?”

Lindir nodded, his body shaking with sobs.

Chapter 41

"Do you wish to take a break?" Manwë asked in his quiet voice. Lindir, who had remained silent for a time after his outburst of tears had ceased, looked at the King. 

"I do not mind," he said. "How long is this meeting?" It could not be much longer, surely? Did not Manwë have to attend court some time?

“The length of this meeting is up to you. The court will not be taking session today,” Manwë answered, smiling slightly. “It is a rest day.”

"May I ask you a question?" 

Manwë inclined his head. 

"Eönwë said that... I was carrying your child. Is that true?" 

Manwë's eyes slid down Lindir's frame to regard the elf's abdomen, swollen slightly beneath the fabric of the elf's robes. "Verily." 

Lindir felt his abdominal muscles tense under the scrutiny. When Manwë returned his gaze to his face, Lindir looked away, down at where the edge of the blue and white carpet met the stone tiles. "Why?" 

"I understand that he explained the why to you as well." 

_You cannot imagine how much the possible - and now the certainty - has affected him!_

Lindir shivered as he recalled Eönwë's words. "He said that you desired a child.”

"Correct." 

Lindir glanced sidelong at Manwë's face. The kindly smile had faded and had been replaced by that close, discomforting scrutiny from before. Lindir looked away again. He wanted to ask more questions, but he could not bring himself to voice them. He did not dare! Why with him? Why at all? What had convinced Manwë that the outcome of a child justified his rape? Was a child really that desirable? That precious? That elusive? 

Manwë, if he was reading his thoughts, which Lindir presumed he was doing, chose not to answer. Lindir looked sidelong at his closed expression, then looked away. 

"What is to happen to me?" he asked then. 

"What is your understanding of what is to happen to you?" Manwë asked, posing the question back to him. 

Lindir felt his face crumple. Why did the question have to come back to him? How was he supposed to predict the future when everything he had been told up until now was false and backward and misinformed? "I came to Mount Taniquetil to visit Glorfindel's family," he said bitterly. "I did not come to be infected or to participate in Sauron's trial." 

"Melkor's _and_ Sauron's trial," Manwë corrected quietly. 

"I did not want to be separated from Glorfindel. I did not want to be confined in Eönwë's quarters. I did not want to be unable to see my children," Lindir continued. He paused, glanced at Manwë's still face, waited for Manwë to invite him to express what he _did_ want. For by Ilúvatar, there were so many things he wanted. 

But Manwë did not ask him. Manwë said nothing. The King merely continued to gaze attentively at him. A long moment passed. 

Then Lindir finally asked, "Why was I taught that Melkor was cast into the Void when he was not?"

"Because that is what we wanted you to believe." 

Lindir swallowed. Who was “we”? Who was “you”? Eönwë had told him that only a few members of Manwë's house knew that Melkor had not been cast into the Void. Was Manwë referring only to those members of his own house, himself and Melkor, or to all the Valar and Valier?

"And why was Melkor _not_ cast into the Void?" 

Manwë looked gravely at him. “Lindir, the Ainur are the powers of Ëa. We are indivisible from Ëa, just as Ëa is indivisible from us. One cannot exist without the other. It is not the role of the Ainur to decide that one of our members 

“But you have restrained him in the past,” Lindir said, spreading his hands emphatically. “You have bound him in chains, placed him under sworn oath to do no harm.”

“Because a few of his interests at the time interfered with ours,” Manwë said.

“But an interest that did not intefere with yours was his determination to have a child, even if it meant torturing tens of thousands of Children?”

“Thousands of thousands of Children, Lindir. As for your question, the answer is nay: we do not approve of the exploitation of the Children for personal purposes.”

“Then why use Melkor's and Sauron's technology, created through those experiments, to sire a child with me? Are you not endorsing the experiments by utilising the ends of those experiments?”

“By that you are referring to yourself?” Manwë replied, his expression perfectly serious. Lindir hesitated. “Did not you utilise the ends of those experiments, to use your words, to deceive Glorfindel and force him to adopt you and your children?”

Lindir swallowed. “It was... I was not thinking clearly,” he argued. “I did not realise that I was deceiving him at the time... though you are right that he was nevertheless the victim of my callousness. But-but... what I did was indeed reprehensible. I know that now! What is your excuse?”

“You already know my reasons for impregnating you, Lindir. If you wish to think of yourself as the victim in this exchange, feel welcome to think so.”

~*~

Manwë's reasons. Lindir faltered. He knew that Manwë desired a child. But did Manwë see him as simply the end result of Melkor's experiments or as Melkor's lover too? Had Varda's and Melkor's interests been considered and consulted in the decision to impregnate him? Was there any jealousy? Any betrayal? What was Manwë's relationship with Melkor? What was Manwë's relationship with Varda?

Was Manwë jealous of Melkor? Was he jealous of Melkor's power? Was he jealous of Melkor's freedom from a council, from interference, from responsibility? Was he jealous of Melkor's ability to sire a child?

Lindir thought back to his days in Gil-galad's court and his jealousy towards his older brother, Estel. His brother had been his parents' favourite, Elrond's favourite, the court's favourite... Even now, Lindir could not think of Estel without a sour pit of impotent rage and bitterness inside of him.

Was there any comparison between himself and Estel, and Manwë and Melkor? Had not Ilúvatar named Melkor the greatest of the Ainur and in front of Manwë? Had not Melkor rent apart the world that the other Ainur, under Manwë's rule, had tried so exhaustively to put together and to make beautiful? Had not Melkor repeatedly poisoned the earth, the waters, and the air? Would it be of any surprise if Manwë was jealous of his brother's might?

But then again, all that he knew of the Ainur was based on stories. They could be as false as the myth that Melkor had been cast into the Void. Just stories deliberately perpetuated to obscure the truth.

“Lindir,” Manwë suddenly said in his quiet voice. When Lindir looked at him attentively, the King said, “Do you wish to take a break?”

This time, Lindir nodded.

“Very well.” Manwë rose and indicated that Lindir was to do likewise. “I will show you to your rooms.”

Lindir rose and followed him through one of the arched doorways that lined the hall. Beyond it lay a long flight of stairs. On ascending it, Melkor took him down a corridor, through another archway, and into a long wide bedroom, lined with many tall white columns. Above and around them, the stars that lay inset deep into the soft blue fabric of the walls glittered softly at him.

Lindir looked at the bed, which lay with its head between two of the columns and surrounded by velvety drapes. It was Noldorin in design and reminded Lindir of the court beds of Gil-galad's kingdom. The deep white and blue pillows and duvet looked soft and inviting.

“There is a bathroom through yonder doorway,” Manwë told him. “I will leave you now. Eönwë will wait on you. Call him if you require anything.” Then he faded from Lindir's side.

Lindir did not move for a while. When he did, it was to turn and look back at the archway through which he had come to the room. It was still there. So at least he was not trapped in his immediate quarters.

He walked over to the bed and looked at it. There was a spray of linden blossoms lying on the duvet. On seeing it, and finding himself recalling Ingwë's halls and Glorfindel, he turned away and walked over to the bathroom.

There was a deep bath inset in the floor of the room. Lindir scanned the mist rising from the surface of the water, then turned his head to observe the gleaming surfaces of the sink and privvy. They, like the bed, were all Noldorin in design and like to those that he had known in Lindon, Imladris, and Ecthelion's house in Tirion.

He looked back at the bedroom, at the bed, at the tall wardrobe, bureau, armchair, and small breakfast table, on which lay three covered dishes and a place for one.

Everything had been specially designed for him. Everything.

Why? He folded his arms, suddenly feeling cold despite the warm temperature of the room. He looked back at the spray of linden blossoms and suddenly shuddered with overwhelming emotion. He wanted to return to Tirion. He wanted to see Glorfindel again. He wanted to see Glorfindel smile at him. He wanted to see Laiglas, and to feel reassured by his eldest son's smile.

He looked back at the rooms, then, biting his lip, headed to the entrance to the bedroom and back down the corridor that had led to it.

He stopped at the end of it. As he had feared, he had indeed been trapped again. He stared, crushed, at the wall that had emerged in place of the stairway that led down to the hall in which Manwë had interviewed him, and which led back to the front door.

~*~

The entrance to the mountain village lay behind a dense growth of holly trees. On seeing the trees, Glorfindel frowned and stopped for a few moments to regard them closely. They looked a few thousand years old.

“Those were planted by Estel when the village was founded,” Erelin said. “In memory of Lindir.” Glorfindel looked at the half-elf.

“So, compared to the other villages, this village is relatively young?”

Erelin smiled and nodded at him. “It was founded when the orphanage moved here. Indeed, the village _is_ the orphanage to our community. Estel and the other founders were looking for a larger site that was both underground and closer to Mandos. This mountain on the very outskirts of Elvenhome on Valinor fitted their purposes.”

“So the orphanage originated elsewhere?”

“Aye, in a township a couple of leagues further north-east. Estel started it with a few former thralls and their families. Within a couple of decades, as word spread about the orphanage and former thralls began to ask Estel for more services and information and housing assistance and healing assistance that catered towards former thralls, the founders decided that they had to move and transform their creation in order to better serve the former thrall community.”

“Are there other organisations like it that cater to former thralls?”

“Not to this scale,” Erelin said. “There are small houses in the cities, but they are not independent of this orphanage, and are run by the same community. He beckoned Glorfindel to follow him, and turned away to continue walking towards the cavenous entrance. “We do not regard this orphanage as an organisation, by the way. To many of us, it is our home.”

They entered under the archway and into a gloomy cavern. A few steps in and Glorfindel had to stop walking for a few moments in order to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Then, when he could see the walls and floor of the rocky floored passageway down which Erelin was leading him, he looked behind him to check that Asfaloth was following behind.

Once sure of the horse's nearby presence, he resumed walking after Erelin who had stopped a few hundred or so feet away at the end of the passageway and was waiting for him in what looked like a larger cave. But as Glorfindel neared, he suddenly began to hear sounds of movement and elvish voices which echoed as if the cave were a vast cavern and, rather excited, he quickened his steps. Then, at the end of the passageway, he stopped still and stared.

Oh, it was more than a large cave. Much more. It was a crevasse, of immense proportions, covered over on all sides with windows and a few doors and a climbing continuous stairwell that snaked along the wall of black rock. And he was standing not even at the bottom of it. He stared up and down from where he stood on the stairwell, amazed, astounded, terrified, at the height. It was so tall that he could barely see the highest window, much less the narrow break at the very top of the mountain and the sunlight that struggled to shine down to even half the length of the fall. It was so deep that he could not see the bottom despite the white lamps that dotted the walls.

“Elbereth!” he uttered softly. And then it suddenly struck him that from this level, there were no stars to be seen and no sunlight in which to bask. There was no wind, no flowers, and hardly a drop of rain. And he smiled then because in spite of the tomb-like damp and stillness and timeless stone, he could hear soft laughter from beyond the windows.

“ _This_ is the orphanage.” Erelin interceded his thoughts. “I will show you the stables first.” He turned away and began to descend the stairwell. Glorfindel waited for Asfaloth to draw alongside and when the horse had done so, took the reins and led the horse after Erelin.

On the floor immediately below lay the stables. There, he bid Glorfindel leave Asfaloth in one of the empty stalls. Glorfindel did so and as he spoke briefly with the elf who was attending the stables at the time to inform him of Asfaloth's tastes, he took the opportunity to look around and observe the other horses there. They looked content and healthy, so he left Asfaloth there with a gentle pat and assurance that he would return the following day at the latest to see him. Then he returned to the stairwell and followed Erelin back up the stairs. 

As they walked, Glorfindel looked curiously at the windows that lined all sides of the crevasse, above and below him, regardless of the side on which the stairwell ran. Each window was no larger than a foot in height and width, and most were half the size. He wondered what lay inside them.

The chief entrance lay immediately above the passageway into the mountain. The door, which was made of wood, was arched and inscribed with many written languages, all speaking words of peace and friendship. Erelin knocked and a short while later, the door opened and a lean and very pale-skinned elf looked out at them. His thoughful face was lined with many cares. He smiled at Erelin and looked curiously at Glorfindel. Glorfindel returned his gaze with interest; the elf was, like himself, part-Vanyarin.

“Erelin,” the door warden said. “I am glad to see you.” Then he looked back at Glorfindel and after regarding him closely for a few moments, inclined his head and said, “My lord, I apologise for although I know you are highborn of the House of Ingwe, I do not know your name.”

Despite his Vanyarin features, his accented Quenya belied his wood-elven ancestry and Glorfindel’s brow knitted on hearing the dialect of an older Lothlórien, strange to his ears, which had only heard the dialects of the Third Age. He smiled at the elf's politeness and supplied, “If you owe me an apology, then I also owe you one. My name is Glorfindel, son of Inglor.” He watched the elf's face brighten with recognition of the name. “Who are you?”

“My name is Halmir, son of Haldur. I hail from Lorinand, which, as I have been told, has since been renamed Lothlorien.”

Glorfindel inclined his head politely. Beside him, Erelin stirred and said, “Halmir, Lord Glorfindel has come to speak to Estel. He bears news of Lindir alive in Valinor.”

Halmir's eyes widened. Then a broad smile spread across his face. “Well, that is news indeed.” He stepped back and held open the door, revealing a dimly lit and rather crooked hallway, lined with small lamp scones. “Please come in.”

They entered the hallway and after Halmir had taken his cloak and carefully put it away in a narrow cloakroom, Halmir picked up a lantern that was standing in a niche of the wall and beckoned them onwards into the gloom. Glorfindel wondered why it was so dark. The lamp sconces shone precious little light into the winding corridor and he could barely see the doors inset in the walls until they were right next to him.

After a while they stopped before one of the doors and Halmir opened the door, revealing a narrow library that was almost as shadowy as the corridor. The small window inset in one wall let in no light from the crevasse beyond. “Your Lordship,” he said politely. “Please wait in here. Master Estel will see you shortly.”

Glorfindel nodded, thanked both of them, and stepped into the room. As the door shut, he looked curiously at his cramped surroundings: at the shelves crammed with strange objects and the walls covered over with children's paintings and maps. Two deep armchairs sat before a well stocked, but unlit fire.

The maps were what caught Glorfindel's attention first. In particular, an extremely detailed map of west Elvenhome that was hanging over the mantlepiece. Unsurprisingly, this detail was most evident in its careful outlining and naming of the villages and landforms closest to the orphanage. But what interested Glorfindel the most was not the expression of local knowledge on the map, but the expression of knowledge of the realms rarely visited by elves. For example, the noting of the many entrances to the Mansions of Aulë, which lay immediately south of the very mountain in which he currently stood. The map also indicated some of the mountain corridors that led and from the Halls of Mandos, ways which most resurrected elves of Glorfindel’s acquaintance feared to tread ever again, and most elves dared not visit, much less try to map.

Another map, beside the one of Valinor atop the mantlepiece, also interested him. It was of Mordor and again, was more detailed than any of those Glorfindel had already seen. In particular, the map showed a great deal of what lay beyond the densely inhabited north-west of the region and sometimes, as in the case of some dotted roads labelled with “trade route 784 III”, hinted at their usage.

He turned and, on seeing a map that he did not recognise from a distance on the opposite floor, crossed the floor. On closer examination, Glorfindel realised that it was a map of the orphanage. He frowned as he regarded it. Although the entire village seemed to be within the mountainside, from the look of the unlabelled, open-ended corridors that ran off west and south at the edge of the map, the house led to other locations as well. There was no key and he could only fathom a guess as to what some of the symbols indicated.

He turned then to look at the contents of the shelves. Some of the items were strange to his eyes. Others were familiar. Strange was a battered orc helmet decorated with spikes so large it would have been near impossible to wear, a bottle of sloughed scaly golden skin, necklaces of fangs, a lock of coarse black hair tied with an embroidered sash, a wooden stick – crudely shaped, hundreds of diaries of notes on the lives of orcs and half-breeds, tomes written in languages that Glorfindel could not read… Estel seemed to have a taste for collecting the belongings of different races – men, orcs… Glorfindel wondered if the skin came from Erelin.

But then there were, dotted through the mix, items with which he was familiar: a decorated roll holder that bore the emblem of Gil-galad’s kingdom in Lindon, which revealed an award thanking Estel for his contributions to the kingdom… and there, by the helmet, an intricately embroidered cloak. And lastly, on a high shelf, a box of letters addressed to Estel – most of them ancient.

Glorfindel looked at the door, which was still shut, then back at the letters. He hesitated, then exhaled and lifted out some of the letters. He turned them over and looked at the name of each one’s sender and their address.

Aha. Here was a familiar hand. And another. And another. He smiled a little when he saw, on a few of the letters, Lindir’s tidy script. Then, impulsively, he suddenly placed the other letters back and unfolded one of the fattest letters by Lindir.

_Dear Estel,_

_Now do not laugh because it is no jest any more! Eregion is exactly as Elrond quipped in class: only a jewel-smith could love this barren wasteland of rock, rock, and more rock. They call it the land of holly, but by Elbereth, beyond holly trees, which I should add are non-native to this land, there is – curse it – almost nothing else!_

_Anyway, as I said, there is a lot of rock, and more cheerfully, because most everyone who is anyone here is a smith of some sort, most everything is carved out of stone, and carved extremely well. I think so anyway, though I suppose my inexpert opinion does not mean much._

_Erestor has kindly taken me into his house, which is located on the west side of the city, the furthest side from the mountains where the smitheries are located, but the same side as Erestor’s office. His house is extremely comfortable. His office is also comfortable; I like it in the late afternoon because that is when the windows catch the sun and the room turns golden and toasty warm._

_In response to your question: so far, I think Erestor is happy with me. However, when he teaches me something new and I do not immediately grasp it, he gives me a look that makes me feel very nervous. I pray night and day that I will not mess anything up too badly and that Erestor will not spring anything too new and strange on me._

_How are you? How fares your research? What are you doing again? I am afraid I keep on forgetting the name of it. You must write it down and completely explain it to me in your next letter and then, perhaps, I will remember it and be able to ask you questions about it in my next letter to you._

_How is mother? I have not heard from her or from father. They did not respond to the letter I wrote to them at the beginning of the year, when I first arrived here, though they wrote to Erestor to thank him for taking me. I hope all is well with them. I will write to them at mid-summer next week and send mother something pretty. Brother, are they still wrathful at me for failing Elrond’s exam last winter? I still think about how she would not talk to me when I left Lindon._

_You must come visit me one day, when… if… Erestor stops trialing me for this station. There is not much to see here or for miles around save for interesting rocks, but there is…_

_…well, not very much that would interest you, actually. But please, please do disregard the promise of visual dullness and come anyway; just come to see me. I miss you so much and would love to see you again, brother. Tomorrow would not be too soon. Today would not be too soon either._

_Please write back soon!_

_Your brother,_

_Lindir_

Struck by the frank tone of the letter, Glorfindel folded the letter and unfolded another that was dated the winter that followed the first.

_Dear Estel,_

_How are you? I trust you are well. I expect you are busy with your research, which is why you have not found time to respond to my first letter, assuming you received it. I would like to hear from you, however, or at least from father and mother. As I said I would in my last letter, I wrote to them at mid-summer. I am still waiting for them to respond to both that letter and the letter I wrote to them last winter._

_I am well. Erestor still seems to be happy with me, but I have angered him a few times since summer. All of the times relate to errors I have made with his bankbook. The first time, I forgot to write a few transactions in there so when he went to match the book with the money in the moneybox, he discovered that they did not match and shouted at me. Then, only last week, I tried to exchange some of my own money with the money in his moneybox so that I had the right change for the maid who comes around with afternoon tea. Erestor noticed that the number of bronze and silver coins had changed and so he was angry with me. I had not realised that he counted the number of each type of coin as well as the total amount. Then, only this morning, I forgot to write a transaction in the bankbook again. I do not seem to have a good mind for money. Happily, most of this job does not involve money._

_How goes your research?_

_Please write to me soon._

_Your little brother,_

_Lindir_

Glorfindel closed that and looked at the date of the next letter, which was dated the next winter.

_Dear Estel,_

_I trust you are well. I have not heard from you in a while, but I understand that you are busy with your work._

_I heard there was a terrible blizzard near to mother and father’s house. I hope they are safe and well._

_Things are well in Eregion. The weather is much better than it seems to be in Lindon. It still has not snowed, but Erestor said it should tomorrow. I look forward to the snow here: the wide lands will look so clean and white afterwards._

_Please write back._

_Lindir_

The next letter was dated three summers later.

_Dear Estel,_

_How are you? How are mother and father? I have not heard from any of you for a few years. I hope you are all well._

_I am well. I am now, officially, Erestor’s assistant. I have signed a contract for twelve years with him. Hopefully he will sign me onto a yen one soon._

_Happy Mid-Summer!_

_Lindir_

Glorfindel’s brow rose when he saw that the next letter was dated over a hundred summers later, after Lindir had made Annatar’s acquaintance, so he looked in the box to see if there were any messages that he had missed by Lindir since the one he had last read. There were not so he turned to this new and last letter.

_Dear Estel,_

_I heard the news (belatedly: news travels slowly between Lindon and Eregion). Congratulations on becoming a palace scholar and the award for your research into indigenous medicines of the Laegrim. I wish I had been there to attend the ceremony._

_I am well. I am still Erestor’s assistant, but now on a sixty-year contract. I enjoy my work. I have made a good friend now; his name is Annatar. You may have heard of him; he is a personal friend of Lord Celebrimbor._

_I hope you, mother, and father are well. Please respond should you find a moment to do so in your, undoubtedly, extremely busy schedule._

_Your brother,_

_Lindir_

“Are you acquainted with Lindir?”

Glorfindel started and looked back at the door, which was open. Estel was standing there in a long green robe. He looked annoyed.

“I am,” Glorfindel said, ignoring the other’s offence. He folded the letter. Estel closed the door and came over to take it and the others Glorfindel had read out of Glorfindel’s hands. He shut them back into the box, then looked back at him.

“You did not mention Lindir to me when we first met. Why?”

“I was unaware that you were his brother, then.”

Estel scanned his face closely for a few moments. Then he frowned. “How do you know him?”

“I befriended him in Rivendell in the Third Age of the Sun,” Glorfindel said simply. He watched the crease in the other elf's brow deepen. “I had anticipated either surprise or suspicion. Every other former thrall I have met since I came across Rana has been similarly surprised to hear that Lindir survived thraldom.”

“Rana, son of Rúmil? The elf who was captured in Eregion with Lindir?”

“The same,” Glorfindel said. “As for myself, I was surprised to hear that so many of his former friends thought him dead.”

“I see.” Estel fell silent for a few moments. Then, abruptly he chuckled and his face melted into a thoughtful smile, and with the expression, Glorfindel saw wrinkles that had been long etched into his face suddenly fade away. “Well, it is true that no one witnessed his death or identified what was thought to be his corpse at close quarters. Where is he?” Estel asked. “Still in Rivendell?”

Glorfindel frowned, confused by Estel's swiftness to assume that Lindir had not come to Valinor. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head, “he is here, in Valinor. He arrived by way of Tol Eressea, on the boats that bore Imladrian Elves.”

It was now Estel’s turn to look confused. “What? But… but I checked those boats. I went especially to Tol Eressea to look firsthand at the lists. I did not see his name on them.”

“You checked all of the lists? We shared the same vessel. I saw him write his name on the list.”

Estel nodded. “Aye, I did. I did…” He suddenly broke off and frowned to himself, but then moments later, he was looking back at Glorfindel and nodding again. “Aye, I checked all of them; all of them. So you must be mistaken. I even scanned the father column of the family lists, though I did not think...” And then, abruptly, he stilled and his face drained of all colour. “Oh... Elbereth,” he uttered then in a soft voice.

“What is it?”

Estel swallowed. “Is he a mother?”

Glorfindel hesitated, but that, apparently was enough of an answer for Estel. The elf, so apparently self assured up until then, now seemed to crumple in on himself. He sank into an armchair.

“Oh Ilúvatar,” Glorfindel heard him breathe, his voice very quiet, “I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.” He raised his face to look wearily at Glorfindel. “All these years,” he said, “All these years I have tried to believe the reassurances of those who knew Lindir in thralldom. They told me that Sauron would not make such use of an elf like Lindir. They told me that Sauron was not interested in an elf with his body type or temperament.” His lips twisted ruefully, tiredly, regretfully. “But when I read that line in Lindir's last letter to me, it was...” He shook his head. “Ilúvatar, why else would Annatar befriend Lindir?”

Glorfindel said nothing. He sat down in the other armchair and waited quietly for Estel to continue.

“By that last letter, I do mean the one that you were reading when I entered this room,” Estel said after a pause. He leaned back in the armchair, but his shoulders remained slack and hunched. “You should know that I did not receive them until long after Eregion's fall. I was abroad each time the letters arrived and so they were immediately forwarded to my parents, with whom, I am also sorry to say, I was not on speaking terms with at the time.” Estel sighed. “At the time I blamed them – I blamed them for Lindir's unhappiness at court and subsequent academic disgrace.”

“Why was Lindir unhappy at court? Did he not wish to be there?”

“Aye, he did not want to be there at all. But then again,” Estel spread his hands, “he did not want to stay at home either... He was miserable and rebellious at home... and frightened and withdrawn at court. In truth, although I do think Elrond acted harshly in sending him so far abroad, I think, from Lindir's tone in his few letters to me, that Lindir was happier in Eregion under Erestor's thumb than he had been for many years in Lindon. At least, until Sauron betrayed his misplaced friendship, as undoubtedly happened.” He turned his head to look wearily across the room towards the shelves – towards the letters that young Lindir had sent to him, those letters full of so much hope and loneliness. “I miss him,” he said after a few moments. Then he frowned and looked back at Glorfindel. “You said he is in Valinor. Where in Valinor? Is he perhaps participating in Sauron's trial? Is that why he is not here today?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Aye, he is on Mount Taniquetil as we speak.”

“That is what I thought, seeing as you are a lord of Ingwe's House. Ah, well, I hope he is weathering well the trauma of recollection and applaud his courage. It is not easy to be a witness in a court run by the Ainur, so I have heard.”

Glorfindel, unsure of how to point out Estel's mistaken assumptions, just smiled politely.

“Tell me, how did you, a prince of your household, come to be friends with Lindir?”

“Er...” Now it was Glorfindel's turn to smile ruefully. “That is not a question that I can answer honestly without raising more questions,” he said after a pause.

Estel smiled. “Try.”

“Well... I suppose I should begin by clarifying the nature of my relationship with Lindir,” Glorfindel began.

~*~

Lindir did not like to think that he had favourites amongst the elves over whom he presided in the wards and dormitories, but as the years passed and he grew familiar with each patient and their personality, he found that he could not help but like some of them more than others.

He liked Halmir, but he had always had a feeling, even after Halmir moved out of solitary confinement and into the dormitories, that Halmir disliked him, despite the elf's polite manner towards him and obedience. Lindir could understand why the elf might distrust and disbelieve anything he might do or say; his betrayal of Halmir and the other elves on the journey to Barad-dur was reason enough and every time Lindir looked at Halmir, he felt crippled with guilt and regret. How could he have done that to such a great captain? To such a leader of elves? And he, by throwing the keys back to the orcs, had thoughtlessly snubbed everything that these leaders of his race had ever done to protect him.

He liked Faramir, a wood-elf who had been a senior healer before his capture and who was of the strong opinion that all of the Ainur were complicit in Sauron's crimes by virtue of their noninterference in his activities. Most of the other test subjects disliked Faramir because Faramir would volunteer unasked for healing advice to any nearby caretaker whenever a medical crisis presented itself, preventing many deaths in doing so. Lindir often overheard Halmir, who lived in a neighbouring cell to Faramir's, criticising Faramir's interference and arguing that Faramir was, by preventing death, supporting Sauron's experiments, a statement that Faramir either chose to ignore or dismiss. Lindir, who agreed with Halmir to a degree, still found Faramir helpful and strange, sometimes both at the same time, and found the exchanges between the two rather funny.

He liked the elves who would collect their fellow inmates' cleaned food bowls and hand them to him. He liked the elves who bothered to try and find out more about him and carry on conversations with him, and liked those who volunteered information about themselves and their former lives.

He liked the elves who showed affection for their children, and who were crushed every time each babe was taken away.

But above all, he liked Iestir because he sensed that the elf, who spoke little and who rarely left his top bunk, was the only one who had not yet judged him as either a fellow victim or as complicit in Sauron's experiments. Lindir often noticed Iestir watching him from his top bunk and listening closely whenever Lindir ventured to share anything about himself to the other thralls – and sensed that the elf was ever scrutinising him, yet still undecided, yet still open to more. When Halmir led that revolt of elves, Iestir was one of two physically able elves who did not participate, despite being physically able to do so. Faramir was the other one.

Lindir, unfortunately, never found out the fate of either Iestir or Faramir. After Halmir's forced suicide, everything that made up his world, everything that seemed to make sense... even his relationship with Sauron... seemed to fall apart. He remembered little of those days... those sleepless breaks between shifts, those fits of weeping alone in the storage room.

In response, Sauron confined him back in that room downstairs and sedated him. And when Lindir was finally permitted back to the upper floor, everyone he had grown to know had gone, gone even in memory, for the caretakers and test subjects knew not even the names that he had known.

Chapter 42

“After hearing your tale, I feel both happiness and sadness,” Estel intimated to Glorfindel as he showed him out of his study and further into the depths of the orphanage towards the kitchens where Glorfindel was to have a late lunch.

“What do you mean?” Glorfindel prompted from where he walked behind Estel, one hand outstretched against the uneven wall for support.

“In spite of all that I had heard of Lindir from the elves who endured thraldom with him, I still felt like Lindir – the child Lindir that I knew in Lindon – had stayed essentially unchanged and that whatever might have changed about him, I could unravel by virtue of what I have learned from my years of living amongst those traumatised by Sauron's experiments. But now, after hearing your story – in the space of mere hours – I have learned that he has children, a famed and beloved lord for a lover, and that he has achieved, through his minstrelling, greatness of his own at courts and in communities across Middle-earth. I feel now as if I do not know him at all. I feel an immense sense of loss, almost as if I have lost my brother.” He stopped walking and looked back at Glorfindel, a small rueful smile on his face. “Although I am glad that you and Lindir have found happiness together, I am also jealous and bitter about it.”

“Are you still in contact with elves that you knew as a student of Gil-galad's court?”

Estel laughed coldly. “Neither in contact with childhood friends nor with my family. The family that I have gained through my work here in the orphanage has, through its nature, managed to transform me into something utterly repulsive to those elves who I played and laughed with as a youth.”

“You surely knew that by associating with orcs, you had crossed a line – even become a threat of sorts to elven society?”

“Oh I knew that, but I still thought – hoped – that that wall of fear and prejudice could be breached at some time. Five thousand summers later, I am still waiting.”

“Lindir is on the same side of that wall as you,” Glorfindel reminded. “Time has passed, aye, and I think he will share many of your regretful thoughts, but you can only move forward with the time that you have left to both of you.”

“I know,” Estel said. He turned away and resumed walking down the corridor. “But it still hurts. I still feel like I have failed as a son and as an older brother.”

 _Failed as a son._ Glorfindel pursed his lips. As an only child, he could not share Estel's feelings about his duties as a brother, but as a son... his jaw tightened. Not that _he_ was the one who had failed his parents. Nay, his parents had failed _him_. He had wasted his childhood fighting to see them... and he would have wasted his adulthood too had not Ecthelion introduced him to the fact that it was the House of Ingwë who was his true opponent.

Estel suddenly stilled before him. Pulled from his thoughts, Glorfindel looked over the smaller elf's shoulder and was startled to see six small shapes silently crossing the passageway before them – making their way across from one doorway to a stairwell on the other side. They were children, he realised, looking at their small limbs and heads in the dim light. He marveled at the silence of their footfalls and then, when one of the elflings looked towards them and his black eyes caught the light of one of the wall sconces, Glorfindel saw why they were so quiet. He sobered.

The boy's eyes were huge, as had been the outline of the boy's ears – huge and pointed. An elfling with orc blood. Glorfindel watched the last of the elflings disappear up the stairwell, then followed Estel onto the stairs and headed downwards in the opposite direction.

The kitchen was on the next floor down – it was bustling with movement and the chatter of many cooks. Great bags of onions, sausages, and misshappen dried perculiarities hung from the ceiling. Beneath them, the cooks were hard at work around the large tables set in the middle of the room or around the roaring fire at the far side of the room and near the window.

Erelin, the part-Maian who had led him to the orphanage, was sitting at one of the large tables, talking to a stunted elf with an awkward face who was chopping potatoes at a tremendous rate. Erelin smiled broadly on seeing them, nudged the cook to whom he had been speaking and rising, beckoned Glorfindel.

“This is my mother, Eybelin,” Erelin said, nodding to the cook who was wiping his hands on his apron. “Eybelin, this is Lord Glorfindel, who knows Lindir.”

Eybelin nodded and smiled at Glorfindel. On close quarters, Glorfindel saw that Eybelin's awkward face came not from unfortunate breeding, but from the fact that Eybelin's left cheek had caved in, presumably from some long-ago injury. It looked very strange and the elf's smile looked extremely lopsided. Noticing his attention, Eybelin looked awkward and lowered his eyes.

“His cheek was not fixed when he was resurrected,” Erelin supplied, looking unconcerned by Eybelin's embarrassment. “Unfortunately, he could not picture himself without the injury – indeed, he could not picture himself at all – he was born in Barad-dur and did not know what he looked like until he saw his first mirror on these shores.”

Eybelin muttered something in a strange tongue that sounded a bit like both the Black Tongue and a Silvan dialect. His shoulders were tense. Erelin chuckled and whispered something back to him. Glorfindel looked to Estel who smiled.

“Come. I will show you to the larder,” Estel said. “There you may choose what you wish to eat.”

After lunch, they left the kitchen and ascended a few flights of stairs. There, Estel showed him into a more brightly lit corridor and to a guest room that looked out over the stairway outside. Down the corridor, Glorfindel was told lay a bathroom and a hot bath ready for him. Then Estel left him, wishing him a restful early night's sleep and pleasant dreams.

Glorfindel took off his cloak, looked around the guest room and the inviting bed for a few moments, then turned and headed in search of the bathroom.

On his return from a long soak, he was surprised to find the door of the guest room ajar and the lights put out. On pushing open the door, he found a tall, bony dark-haired elf sitting fidgeting with his hands on the stool in the shadows before the writing bureau. The elf rose on seeing him and came forward. As he drew near and his face became more visible, Glorfindel was struck by the familiarity of the handsome face. Did he know this elf? Oh Elbereth – had he slept with him? The elf supplied him with the answer a few moments later.

“Lord Glorfindel. My name is Iestir, son of Gildor,” he said quietly.

Glorfindel nodded. That explained the resemblance to his former lover, Gildor. Iestir's disappearance without a trace along the Greenway during the height of Eregion's greatness was one of the chief stressors that had led to Gildor's separation from his wife. It had been thought that the elf had been waylaid by bandits and the body destroyed. Apparently not. He frowned. “You wished to see me?”

“Aye. I apologise for the secrecy, but I do not wish for knowledge of this meeting to reach Estel's ears.”

Glorfindel nodded curiously. “Go on.”

Iestir nodded and swallowed. He folded his arms, then unfolded them and put them on his hips. “When do you intend to tell Estel about Lindir's relationship with Sauron?”

Glorfindel was silent for a few moments. What was Iestir's reason for asking such a question? Why was timing important? And what did Iestir mean by the word “relationship”? “What makes you think that I know of a relationship between Lindir and Sauron?”

“Do you deny it?” Iestir asked him seriously, looking him in the eyes. “I know you know it. A shadow entered your face when I uttered those names. You feel fear, confusion, jealousy, rage, bitterness, betrayal...”

Glorfindel's eyes widened. “Whoa, whoa! Halt!” He said quickly, holding up his hands. Chuckling, he stepped forward and clamped a hand over Iestir's eyes. The other hand he wrapped around the elf's nearest arm. “Stop reading, you impertinent child. You are worse than your father.”

He felt Iestir's bony arm tense. “You know Gildor?”

“Of course.” Glorfindel lowered his hand from Iestir's face and smiled at the elf's startled expression. “We attended school together, here in Valinor.”

“But that is not all...” Iestir said slowly, looking back at his eyes.

“Nay, nay, that is not all,” Glorfindel said hurriedly, smiling ruefully as he felt the elf's curious eyes scrutinising him closely. He released his grip on the elf. “But my relationship with Gildor is not the reason why you came here today, though I am happy to tell it to you later if you so desire. Now be seated and tell me why it is of such dire importance that knowledge of Lindir's and Sauron's bond be kept hidden from Estel? How many elves here know of their relationship?”

“Only two: myself and the orphanage's chief healer, Faramir,” Iestir said, returning to the stool. Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed.

“You both knew Lindir in thraldom?”

“Aye. The three of us entered Barad-dur around the same time and so, although each of us filled a different role in the laboratories, we were of the same generation of thralls and we learned the system together and – to a degree – shared what we had learned with each other. But we found out about Lindir's relationship with Sauron by accident. There is a story there, true, and I see that you are intrigued to...”

“Very intrigued,” Glorfindel agreed, smiling.

“Aye, but it is crude and I would rather return to the subject of Estel's ignorance of the affair,” Iestir said. He sounded embarrassed. Glorfindel's smile broadened. He was charmed.

“Why do you wish to keep news of Lindir's relationship with Sauron secret from Estel?” he asked. “Why now? I did not tell him earlier because I thought that the news that Lindir was alive and well and with children was enough for today, but even if I chose to let that portion of Lindir's history remain hidden, it will only be a matter of time before it is common knowledge in the orphanage – both Sauron and Lindir have already confirmed the affair at court.”

Iestir pursed his lips. “This orphanage is... Estel's life... and his belief that Lindir was forcibly enslaved and experimented on like the rest of us former thralls is what drives him. I fear that if you tell Estel about the affair and open his ears to the arguments about Lindir's character that go on behind closed doors here, he will lose his drive and we at the orphanage will lose our leader as well as our chief link to the courts of the Kings of the Three Kindreds.”

“I understand your concern, but as I said, it is only a matter of time until Estel finds out about their relationship,” Glorfindel said, shaking his head. “And in terms of leadership and access to courts, Estel is not alone. There must be others who can step into his shoes – others such as you with leadership qualities and access to the three high courts. Erelin told me that the orphanage has other founders. Perhaps Estel was chief amongst them – perhaps this establishment was _entirely_ his idea, but... but he is not always here. He travels – he traverses the ends of Elvenhome to speak to landlords and commoners to alert them to your political plights. Who manages this community in his absence? Who teaches the children? Who cooks their meals? Who assists them to find work?”

There was a long silence. Glorfindel watched Iestir swallow again. He thought he saw the elf's chin tremble. Was Iestir crying? What a strange and shy lot these former thralls were.

He rose and went over to Iestir to wrap his arms around the other elf, and hush the elf when Iestir shuddered and reached out to rest a steadying hand on Glorfindel's flank.

“Have you contacted Gildor?” Glorfindel asked. Iestir stiffened and Glorfindel released him with what he hoped was a reassuring stroke of the elf's hair. He retreated back to his position on the bed.

After a few moments, Iestir rose and came over to sit down beside him. He was silent for a while longer. Finally he sighed heavily and said quietly, “When I left Mandos, I thought – as you suggested by mentioning my access to the three courts – that it would not be so terrible to try to contact former friends and family. My family...” he laughed hollowly. “Well, my cousin Gelmir was and is still very accommodating, but he works in Mandos. And Gwindor is still counted amongst the Houseless.”

“What of your uncle, Guilin?”

“I meant to see him... I visited Tirion to meet – separately – with the lover and two close friends that I left when I was captured,” Iestir said. “Estel funded that visit; he was so hopeful for me and I think he was more devastated than I when I returned after spending only a few days in the city.” He looked down at his hands.

“What happened?”

“The three of them were each so courteous, so curious, so generous... but so cold. They made it clear, each in their own way, that they would rather not see me again.”

“Why do you think that was?”

Iestir laughed again, that same hollow laugh. “Well, it always starts when they realise I am no longer aware of the current fashions or the latest scandal at court and start to struggle for conversation.”

“And then?”

“And then they start asking questions about what life is like for me now... and start talking about family... and their children. And then the fact that I have children comes out...”

Glorfindel pursed his lips. “You are a mother like Lindir?”

“Aye.” Iestir tilted his head and flashed him a self-conscious smile.

“How many?”

“Four hundred and eighty three,” Iestir said. He chuckled when Glorfindel's mouth opened.

“That must be one of the record figures,” Glorfindel said finally. He stared when Iestir chuckled again and the elf shook his head. “What, are we talking thousands for the record?”

Iestir mirthfully nodded. “But that elf cheated,” he said. “He has them in twos or threes or more.”

Glorfindel laughed, then suddenly sobered as a thought struck him. “Are you going to contact your parents now that they are returned to Valinor?” he asked.

“I might,” Iestir said. “I admit I have considered it, but what with all the fuss about Sauron's trial, I thought it might be considered discourteous to draw any public attention to my parents.”

“Then you plainly know little of the news in Tirion at the moment,” Glorfindel said. “News of the trial is, I have heard, hard to hear word of except behind closed doors in that city.”

“Then the timing would be even worse,” Iestir said, “for without public discussion there is no temperance of the gossipmongers' tongues.”

“Do you think your parents would care what other people think?”

Iestir shrugged. “You tell me. I have not seen them since I was a youth prancing about at court in the latest fashions and striving to be the most obnoxious and self-absorbed member of my class.”

“They are separated. Did you know that?”

Iestir sobered. “Nay...” he said, and was silent for a few moments. Then he exhaled and shrugged again. “But that is their decision. Are they happier for it?”

“I know that Gildor is happier for it, and he tells me that she is happier too,” Glorfindel said. He watched Iestir smile pensively and smiled. How much like a younger Gildor the elf was... and yet how much sweeter.

There was a short silence. Then Iestir said, “Are you going to tell Estel about Lindir's affair?”

“You decide,” Glorfindel said. “Whether you answer be aye or nay, Estel will learn of the relationship soon and if your fears that he will leave the orphanage prove true, the founders of this establishment will have to find a new leader and spokesperson. So what will it be, son of Gildor?”

Iestir nodded. “It will be nay,” he said. “I say nay, do not tell him. The orphanage is understaffed at this time, what with the trial. We cannot afford to lose Estel.”

Glorfindel inclined his head and smiled at the elf. “Nay it shall be, then.”

~*~

“Back in the bath already? Why so glum?” asked Eönwë. Lindir looked around from where he was soaking in the steaming waters of the bath and had been thinking about Glorfindel to observe the Maia standing at the doorway of the bathroom. He could not think of a suitable response so he looked away and down at the wrinkled pads of his fingers.

“Everything is being decided for you,” Eönwë said, “so why worry about the future? You have no choice in it, after all.”

“Do you know the future?” Lindir asked him, flexing his fingers and watching droplets of water course down his skin. “Do you know when I will be released? Do you know if I, and more importantly, my children, will be ostracised from our friends and family for the rest of our lives on Elvenhome?”

“You assume that you will be released.”

“Oh, forgive me!” bit out Lindir, lowering the hand and turning to glare at Eönwë. “Will I ever be released from this prison, O condescending half-sire of the parasite within me?”

Cold amusement danced in Eönwë's blue eyes and the Maia chuckled softly. Lindir faltered. “You can supervise me without making your presence known,” he reminded Eönwë awkwardly.

“Why would you wish my presence to be unknown?” Eönwë asked, still smiling coldly.

“You know that you frighten me.”

“Indeed, and I relish that fact.”

Lindir exhaled and turned his attention back to the bath waters. _You or Manwë?_ he thought. _You would do anything for Manwë, after all. Even lie with me – in spite of my repulsiveness to you. Manwë treats me with courtesy, but if he can order you to do such a hideous crime, then surely ordering you to frighten me without fail is not past him._

Eönwë snorted softly. “Then, mother of my child, pray, if he so detests you, why has he summoned Elrond and Faramir – friends of yours – to attend on you night and day while you are a guest in his halls?”

“What?” Lindir turned to look back at Eönwë and winced when he was answered only by a stinging blast of icy wind in the face. Eönwë had disappeared from sight. He frowned. Had he heard correctly? Disturbed, he climbed out of the bath, dried himself and put on a clean sleeping robe. Then he went back into the bedroom and looked around. There was no one there. Had Eönwë been jesting with him? Wait – the Maia had said “summoned”... so did that mean that Elrond and Faramir would show up soon? Oh Ilúvatar, let soon be tomorrow or tonight.

~*~

Although the bed invited with its thick mattress, deep pillows and soft white blankets, Glorfindel did not attempt to seek its embrace immediately after Iestir's departure. Instead, he went over to the window and looked out on the lights at the other windows, small bright squares in the gaping gloom of the crevasse.

What an incredible, beautiful, ghastly house – pregnant with elves who had once been the most awed, the most respected, the strongest, the loudest, the wealthiest, the bawdiest, the most beloved of the armies of Middle-earth. Elves who should be fathers, but who had been beaten into the strangest of breeds – neither female nor male – yet mothers.

He pursed his lips. He knew little of Iestir, but from what Gildor had told him, the Iestir that had been a student at Gil-galad's court had nothing in common with the elf who had cried before him tonight.

And what of Lindir's and Estel's relationship with their parents?

Truly, he had issues with his own parents, parents who he barely knew, but these elves' issues with their parents and with their children far outstripped his own. Who was he, Glorfindel, to give up the fight to be recognised by his parents and to be heard by Ingwe's House? Who was he to let himself be blinded into inaction by rage? These former thralls had been fighting to be recognised and to recognise themselves since the moment they had set foot out of Mandos.

He sighed. He did not remember much of his father – Inglor, son of Ingwë. His father had walked out on him and his mother suddenly, a few days before Glorfindel had found himself exiled to the boarding school at Tirion's court. He had seen his father only a few times since then, always by appointment.

Why his father had left, he knew not. Right up to the day on which Inglor had walked out there had been no word of trouble between Inglor and Gilraen. No financial issues. No marital issues. Glorfindel had been eight at the time of the separation, but a few years later, when he had realised that the word “separation” entailed something frighteningly longer than temporary, he had set himself the task of asking questions – questions that had ever remained frustratingly unanswered.

At thirteen, Gilraen suffered her breakdown and had removed herself to Ingwë's House along with her remaining servants. And with her departure, the trail of Glorfindel's crude investigation had turned cold and dead. Enraged, he had unleashed his fury onto Ingwë's House, the house that funded Inglor's, Gilraen's, and his lifestyles, and, at least when he had been a child, dictated his every movement.

He knew little of his father, even now. He had never been invited to any of Inglor's houses at Tirion or Alqualondë or on the Bay of Eldamar. He had never seen his father show his face at Finwë's court, though he had heard that his father was a great friend of the household. He had never been able to find out anything from Inglor's supposed closest friends. To all appearances, his father existed only in name and reputation. Glorfindel used to hate it. Then he had reigned in his frustration and fear, and feigned resignation. Now he hated Inglor once more.

Someone passed in front of his window, heading down the stairwell. He blinked, then leaned forward curiously to watch the elf's agile descent of the steps. The elf disappeared through one of the doors a few levels down. Shortly afterwards, a bell rang in the distance and Glorfindel saw a few more elves start to descend the stairwell. He retreated back into the shadowy bedroom. Time for bed.

Chapter 43  
Lindir had been on one of his breaks when Halmir and most of the other thralls in dormitories had staged their escape attempt. When he ascended to the laboratory floor for his next shift, he had discovered all of the cell doors undone and the bunks abandoned.

He sought the other caretakers and found one in the wards who knew what had happened; the one whose key had unlocked the first door. The youth had been tricked, apparently, on his way to attend to an elf who had been complaining of abdominal pain, an elf that lived in the cell neighbouring Halmir's.

Lindir had the man sit down in the central laboratory and set himself the task of changing the dressing on the man's head wound where the man's head had been struck against the cell bars. As he did so, he continued to ask questions.

“Where are the escapees now?” he asked as he peeled off the existing dressing. He knew that they had most likely been re-captured or killed.

“About half of them were recovered on lower floors,” the man told him. “They have been confined in a room near the isolation cells – only the Dark Lord may enter that room. I hear that they are being punished.”

“What of those who were not re-captured?”

“Most of the rest killed themselves by attempting to escape down the rubbish chutes or out of windows. A few have disappeared without trace, presumably they are still in the chutes. Those chutes have been closed off and I hear that they are being smoked out.”

Lindir nodded and finished swabbing the wound clean of encrusted blood and some dirt that presumably the other caretakers had missed. “Has the Dark Lord seen you yet?”

The man nodded. “Aye. He heard my story and then told me to return to work.” He looked uncertainly at Lindir. “That is all he said. Will he punish me?”

Lindir smiled reassuringly. “If what you told him was the truth, then I do not think he will punish you.” He finished fastening the new bandage in place. “There.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now, I am going to ready the dormitories for the return of the inmates. Ask if you need any assistance here.”

The other caretaker nodded. Then Lindir, after disposing of the swabs and soiled bandage, left the wards and returned to the empty cells where he set himself the task of changing the bed linen, taking away water jugs and bowls for cleaning, and washing the floor.

He was working on Halmir's dormitory and thoughtfully scanning the blood drops on the floor and wondering whether they had come from the injured caretaker or one of the cellmates when he heard the cell door creak. He looked around and saw Sauron standing there at the entrance. “Master,” he greeted. Then, after a pause, he added, “I hear that I slept through a great deal.”

“What are you doing here?” Sauron asked him quietly.

“Cleaning the cells,” Lindir said.

“I can see that, child. But why?”

“Well, I assumed that the re-captured elves would be returning to these cells shortly,” Lindir said. He faltered as he looked at Sauron's masked face. “But... they are not. Is that it?”

“Not to these dormitory cells.”

“Then should I ready the wards for more elves? Or the isolation cells?”

“Nay.”

Lindir frowned. “Are they coming back at all?” When Sauron did not respond immediately, he pressed, “Master, I understand that you may be angry, but I care about these elves, whatever trouble they may have caused to your work. You may not let me have a say in what is to happen to them, but at least let me know what is to happen to them.”

Sauron did not respond.

Lindir bit his lower lip. What was Sauron thinking? Had he said something wrong? Had he done something wrong? Did Sauron blame him for what had happened? For the escape attempt? For not being strict enough? For not warning the other caretakers about the most defiant elves? “I am sorry,” he said then. “I just wanted to know their fate.” He turned to Halmir's bed and started stripping it down.

He felt Sauron observing him as he worked. When he turned to put the soiled linen into the trolley that he had brought with him into the cell, he glanced at the Maia and ventured, “Was Halmir responsible for the escape attempt?”

“Aye.”

Lindir pursed his lips as he picked up the half-full water jug. He tipped it out over the drain. “Was Halmir re-captured?”

“Aye.”

Lindir clunked the jug down on the cleaning trolley beside the basket and turned to look at Sauron. He hesitated. He could not bring himself to ask it. He already knew the answer. He remembered all too well Halmir's condition after Halmir's escape attempt in Rhovanion. He remembered Halmir's condition when Lindir had started to care for the elves in the isolation cells. He bit his lip, tears coming to his eyes. He should never have interfered with Halmir's first escape attempt.

He moved to continue working, then realised that he could not see for the tears in his eyes and slipping down his face so he went over to the bed and sat down on the hard wood and covered his face with his hands.

Sauron watched him for a while. Then, all of a sudden, he came closer and sat down beside him. An armoured arm slid around his back and Lindir lowered his hands from his face and leaned against the Maia. He wished they were back in Eregion, watching the sunrise. What Sauron gained from this world of suffering, he had no idea. What he, Lindir, was doing here, he also had no idea – whatever preconceptions he had had about following his heart and taking the path at hand – the preconceptions that had brought him here – he knew that somewhere, perhaps in Eregion, perhaps with Annatar, perhaps with Halmir, they had failed him.

Sauron reached over and removed the glove upon the hand curled around Lindir's arm. Lindir covered the hand with his own.

~*~

When Glorfindel awoke, he had no idea whether it was morning or still night. To him, looking out into the crevasse, it looked as dark as it had been when he had arrived the previous afternoon.

He felt rested so he decided to rise and check on Asfaloth at the stables. On looking through the wardrobe and finding breeches and a shirt that fit him and looked similar to those he had seen being worn by Iestir and Estel, he left the guestroom and went downstairs in search of the front door.

After a short search and the helpful advice of a passing youth who bore more than a passing resemblance to Iestir – perhaps one of the elf's many children – he finally found the front door. The door warden had not changed – it was still Halmir. The slender elf rose from him seat in an alcove by the crooked entranceway and greeted him politely.

“What time is it?” Glorfindel asked him.

“Still dark,” Halmir said. “You could not sleep?”

“On the contrary, I slept very well,” Glorfindel said, “but I am now rested and restless and thought to look in on the companion that I brought with me.”

“May I join you?” Halmir asked as he went to fetch Glorfindel's cloak. “I have heard of Asfaloth. One of my sons told me the tale of the fall of the Witch King at Carn Dum.” He smiled as he came back with the cloak and assisted Glorfindel with donning it. “As a youth, he developed a peculiar fascination with wraiths. He now works in Mandos.”

“Certainly, you may join me,” Glorfindel said and nodded his thanks when Halmir opened the door for him.

“How long have you lived at the orphanage?” he asked when they were returning from the stables. Asfaloth had been sleeping soundly so Glorfindel had decided not to disturb the contented-looking horse and had instead asked Halmir to accompany him out of the crevasse to admire the stars with him for a while.

Halmir smiled. “I was one of the founders; my children numbered amongst the first children,” he said. “Estel took my young children and I in when we were released from Mandos.”

“We?”

“Elflings that die before their majority are sometimes held at Mandos and resurrected with their mother if it is known that the mother will heed the calling of Mandos,” Halmir explained. “It created a problem for me as I had a tendency to deliver twins so I was released with twenty-nine children, most of them under the age of twelve. When Estel took us in, he realised that we would need extra help and so we recruited other families, began to take in true orphans, and the orphanage grew from there.”

They exited the entrance to the mountain and Glorfindel breathed at last of the fresh air wet with dew and saw the green of the fields and trees beneath the starry sky. Halmir looked at him and laughed.

“Your joyous expression at the sight of stars is a rare sight to my eyes,” he remarked. “I have lived too long under stone and in darkness and most of the orphanage residents cannot appreciate the beauty of the stars.”

“Why is that?” Glorfindel asked.

“They are not elves,” Halmir said. “They were born into thraldom, most of them, or born in Mandos. Even if they are full-blooded, even if they look like elves, the way they think, the way they regard the world around them is not something that either of us can ever understand. Their first language was not Quenyan or Sindarin. They were raised in an alien culture. They cannot perceive most of the undertones and subtleties of our languages and actions.”

“But they would have their own undertones, born of their own birth language and of the culture into which they were born.”

“Aye. They were born into a world of pain, disfigurement, and despair,” Halmir said seriously.

Glorfindel looked at the other elf, at Halmir's lined face and the elf's deathly pale skin, which looked almost translucent in the starlight. “Why do you stay here?” he asked.

Halmir looked sidelong at him. Then he looked back at the stars. “Unlike most of the elves who have stayed here, I do have a supportive family who have invited me to live with them,” he said. “They are why I took a second life. But I realised, on visiting them, that my duties lie not with them, but here, at the orphanage.”

Glorfindel nodded and turned his gaze westwards, to where the road disappeared towards the shadowy mountains that housed Mandos, the Halls of Waiting.

There was a short silence. Then Halmir suddenly said, rather quietly, “Not everyone here thinks well of Lindir.”

“I was told as much,” Glorfindel said, thinking of what Iestir had said the previous evening. He reminded himself that only Iestir and the healer, Faramir, knew of Lindir's affair with Sauron. “Why is that?”

“When I knew him, he was the head caretaker of the laboratories of Barad-dur, not a test subject,” Halmir said, looking back at him. “He presided over the other caretakers and over the test subjects, and he carried out most of the experiments during Sauron's frequent absences, including impregnating us with whatever Sauron had ordered.”

“Did he have a choice in the matter?” Glorfindel ventured.

Halmir smiled slightly. “Well, the answer to that determines whether you think well or ill of him,” he said.

“You do not think well of him?”

Halmir nodded.

“Have you held this conversation with Estel?”

Halmir smiled faintly. “I have indeed. He remains undecided.”

There was a brief silence. “What do you think of Lindir?” Halmir invited then. “I mean no offence, by the way.”

“I take no offence. As it stands, I think Lindir has made some mistakes in his life which he deeply regrets, but he has shown himself to be an intelligent, loyal, and considerate individual who has always means well to those around him.”

Halmir looked back at the stars. “I wish I could forgive him,” he said.

~*~

Later that shift, Sauron took him to see the recaptured escapees. When Lindir entered the room after the Maia, the first thing that struck him was how few elves were confined therein. The second thing that struck him was the fact that he no longer recognised most of the elves, so disfigured were their faces and bodies.

He looked at them slackly. Why Sauron had brought him here exactly, he was unsure. He had received no instruction to attempt to heal any of their injuries. He still did not know if any of them would be returning to the wards or dormitories.

On seeing one elf who he recognised as having shared Iestir's dormitory, he looked for Iestir, but could not locate the elf. Eventually, he gave up and looked for other elves. A few of them he found, most of them he did not. Halmir numbered amongst those who he did find, sitting slumped with eyes closed against one of the four walls of the room. There were fresh welts on his gaunt body, but he looked otherwise unharmed – certainly in better condition than some of the other elves.

Lindir looked back at Sauron, who had not moved from the doorway. Then, after glancing once more at Halmir, he turned away and walked out of the room.

“Where are the other recaptured elves?” he asked, when Sauron had shut the door to the room and they were alone. “Are they dead?”

“Aye, they are dead.”

Lindir nodded. He had suspected as much. He glanced up and down the corridor. His fingers tingled with restless, helpless energy. “What are you going to do with the remaining elves?”

“They are going to die.”

“All of them?” He swallowed.

“All of them,” Sauron acceded.

Lindir nodded and looked up and down the corridor a second time. He flexed his fingers absently. “What about Halmir?”

“What about him?”

“How is he to die? He led the escape attempt, did he not?” Lindir heard his voice tremble. “He will suffer before he dies, aye?”

Sauron was silent for a while. Then he said, quietly, “Go take a break, child. Your shift ends now; return to your cell.”

Lindir swallowed hard, turned and left. He did not, however, return to his cell. He went to the storage room and sat on the floor between the aisles there until he could bear it no longer. So he went back to the room. The door was locked, but as he walked away, Lindir heard Sauron's voice addressing Halmir from within one of the isolation cells – heard Sauron give Halmir that choice that chilled him to his very heart.

When Sauron finally came out of the cell and saw him sitting – pale-faced – by the door with his arms around his knees, the Maia stopped and looked at him for a long while. Then, without saying a word, the Maia strode away, leaving Lindir to listen to Halmir’s silence alone.

~*~

On waking the following morning, Lindir was greeted with the sight of Elrond sitting beside the bed on a chair that he had apparently dragged from the table. The half-elf was reading a pile of unbound handwritten papers, but on noticing Lindir's gaze, he put them down on the bedside table and smiled at him. “Good morning,” he said.

Lindir observed his face for a while, just enjoying the sight of a familiar face, however unsteady their history. Then, when Elrond raised an enquiring eyebrow, he lowered his eyes and, smiling, pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“I am sorry,” he apologised. “It feels as if I have not seen another elf for many years.”

“Certainly, you have not seen me for some time,” Elrond said. “It is good to see you looking happier and healthier.”

Did he? That was likely thanks to the luxurious change of environment and the late, but substantial breakfast that he had eaten the previous morning or early afternoon. Lindir did not quite remember when he began to pick at that meal or when he finished. “Eönwë told me that you are to stay with me for a while,” he said eagerly.

“Indeed. I shall be here every day until I am dismissed,” Elrond said.

“On Eönwë's order?”

“On Lord Manwë's request, which Eönwë conveyed to me.”

On request? So Elrond had not been ordered to attend to him? “Why did you accept the request?” Lindir asked. “What about your role in the trial?”

Elrond's brow knitted, but he answered the question readily enough. “I accepted it because I am worried about you... as are many of the witnesses whom I have met in the witness houses. As for my part in the trial, I intend to continue contributing between my shifts here with you.”

Lindir was surprised by the answer. He had expected an answer that alluded to the privilege of assisting at the birth of Manwë's firstborn... assuming Elrond even knew the identity of the child. And if not, perhaps Elrond was here to find out the child's identity. Or here because Manwë had offered him a reward in exchange for his services. But instead, Elrond had said that he was worried about him... and said that others were worried about him too. He felt strange. He knew that he should feel touched or happy, but for some reason he simply felt sad.

“Are you hungry?”

Lindir blinked and looked at the table across the room. A covered dish sat on it and he noticed that he could smell burnt sugar and porridge. He swallowed. He was not particularly hungry, but a lump had appeared in his throat and all of a sudden he felt self-conscious and unwilling to let Elrond hear the unhappiness in his voice. He nodded, pushed back the covers, and carefully rose and made his way over to the table. Elrond followed him and when Lindir sat down, sat down on the chair beside him.

Lindir uncovered the dish and silently served himself, then served Elrond, who thanked him. Lindir just nodded in response and turned his attention to forcing a few spoonfuls of the warm porridge into his mouth. Truth be told, he felt like throwing up. So when, shortly afterwards, he felt his stomach heave and he threw up the small amount that he just eaten into his bowl, he felt his cheeks burn with humiliation and self-hatred. Tears slipped down his cheeks. Curse it!

Elrond leaned over, napkin in hand. Lindir ignored the offer and cleaned his face of tears and vomit with his own napkin, spitting the pieces that remained wedged in his mouth and throat into the folds of the cloth. Then he dropped the soiled napkin into his bowl and covered his face with his hands.

~*~

Halmir left Glorfindel to return to his station at the door of the orphanage, leaving Glorfindel to watch the sunrise alone. As Glorfindel watched Arien's rays stretch across the deserted fields and into the crags of the mountains, he felt, all of a sudden, an immense sense of helplessness.

Iestir's observation about his troubled feelings towards Lindir confirmed what he had suspected since his venture into the courtroom on Taniquetil's summit. He looked absently at the distant mountain peak. What was he doing here? Why was he saying that he was Lindir's spouse when the meaning underlying that word had faded? Why had he agreed to hide the fact of Lindir's relationship with Sauron from Estel when it would only make it more difficult for him to explain why he was not with Lindir – supporting Lindir – at this time? What had he hoped to gain from travelling with Ecthelion?

_How can a journey through strange lands repair our relationship?_

Distraction had only wasted his time. And now, what was he doing here, pretending to be acting in Lindir's best interest by contacting Lindir's brother and former associates in thraldom?

He looked down at the gold ring that been his constant companion since he and Lindir had exchanged their vows before Elrond, their children, and a few others. The gold band winked and gleamed at him. In its smooth, unmarred reflection, he could see the morning clouds hanging like strange orange-pink linen against the blue sky. Was the ring connected to the one that lay on Lindir's finger in more than word? He had no idea if their marriage ceremony had served to connect the plain pieces of metal.

 _If I rejected this ring and had it destroyed, would Lindir even know?_ Would Lindir's ring shatter, as he had heard would happen with rings of marriages ordained under the Customs of the Eldar should one of those rings be destroyed?

An elf drew beside him. Glorfindel looked sidelong at him and saw that it was Iestir. The younger elf scanned his expression, then said, unsmiling, “It is breakfast time.”

Glorfindel did not move immediately. He was not particularly hungry. “Thank you. I will come shortly.”

Iestir nodded, turned, and walked quietly away.

Glorfindel looked back at the distant spike of Taniquetil upon the horizon. He stood silently, staring at it for a long while. Then, finally, he stirred, exhaled heavily, and turned to head back to the orphanage.

Chapter 44

“Is there anything I can do?” Elrond asked after a while. Lindir lowered his hands from his face and looked at the half-elf. He hesitated, then looked around the bedroom around them. His gaze fell on the unbound documents through which Elrond had been sifting when he had awoken. He swallowed and looked back at Elrond.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I usually sleep the day away.”

Elrond's brow knitted slightly. “What about visitors?”

“I am not allowed to receive visitors.” If Elrond was to care for him, then Elrond would learn the prohibition that Manwë and Eönwë had imposed on Lindir in time.

Elrond looked troubled and was silent for a while. Lindir looked at his bowl – full of both vomit and untouched porridge. He pushed it away from him.

“Whose child are you carrying?”

Lindir stilled and looked back at Elrond. Now that enquiry, he did not think he should answer. “Who do you think is the sire?” he responded. If Elrond knew, then perhaps they could move forward with the truth. If not, then he would have to remain silent.

“I have heard talk that you volunteered to become a test subject for a team working to develop a cure to the male pregnancy infection.”

Lindir's brow rose. That was the first that he had heard of that. “What do you think of that talk?” he asked then.

“I think those are false rumours. If it were true, then there would be collaboration between the healers of the Ainur and the elvish healers involved in earlier attempts to reverse male pregnancy.”

Lindir said nothing.

“Do you know the sources of those blood samples that I tested earlier?”

“Aye.”

“And?”

“I do not think I should say.” He watched Elrond's face darken. “Have you asked Eönwë?”

“I have. He refused to disclose the sources. So. Are the rumours false?”

“Aye, they are false. I am here because...” Lindir searched for the best words, “...because of my bond with Sauron.” Or rather, Morgoth and Sauron... he pursed his lips.

“Are you being tried for some crime related to your time in thraldom?”

Lindir blinked. Then he snorted and smiled. “Nay.” He had almost forgotten that he was speaking to Elrond, the one who had once tried to have him deported from Imladris for not disclosing his history as a thrall. “Nay, I am not being tried.” Of course, it would not be hard for the court to find him guilty of assisting Sauron if they did try him.

“Are you having another of his children?”

“What? Nay!” But Lindir felt his face pale as he realised how much truth there was in the enquiry. Flustered, he rose and clumsily caused a spoon to tumble to the floor. “Discuss it with Eönwë,” he said, then hurried into the bathroom.

~*~

Glorfindel liked to think of himself as used to children. After all, he had had two of his own, raised five, and had coached thousands of them in various classes that he had taught throughout his life. So he was pleased to find the few hundred children that he observed at breakfast in the cavernous dining hall no very different from those other children that he had known.

Same concerns, same curious stares, same self-absorbed behaviours, same fondness for sugary, fatty foods... they cried out when a neighbour stole their fork, kicked each other beneath the table, and ran to an adult if they felt a grievance warranted reporting or revenge in the form of an adult's reprimand.

They were different in some regards, however. Their chatter, for example, was uncommonly free of any references to Elbereth or the sun or to shopping in the cities. Instead the children spoke of relatives working in the mountains and lodging in the rooms further up the crevasse and if they spoke of the Valar at all, they spoke of Aulë and Námo, the Lord of Mandos, the Halls of Waiting.

He looked at Iestir, who was sitting beside him, slowly chewing a piece of buttered bread, and scanning the noisy chaos around the enormous table without expression. On Glorfindel's other side, Estel's seat was empty, as it had been ever since he had entered the breakfast hall – Lindir's older sibling was attending to the screaming elfling whose fork had apparently been stolen and the apparent culprit who was claiming that the first elfling had pinched him.

Glorfindel looked at Halmir, who had also left his chair on the other side of the table to cut up the fried egg on the plate of a toddler with a bruise on his cheek who was engaging in a punching match with the elfling beside him and shrieking, ear-piercingly, with laughter.

“Normally they are a little quieter,” Iestir said, when Glorfindel winced in response to the toddler's latest shriek. “We are down six full-time carers thanks to the trial.”

“What about the lodgers who live in the upper regions of the crevasse? Can they help out?”

“Some of them do, when they can spare the time. However, most of them cannot spare the time – they work long hours in Námo's or Aulë's realms.”

Glorfindel was curious. “What sort of work do they do in those realms?”

“In Námo's realms, they work in a variety of professions – as tailors, shoemakers, farmers, cooks, cleaners, translators...”

“Tailors, shoemakers and farmers?”

“The resurrected inmates require clothes and shoes and hot meals,” Iestir answered. Glorfindel's face slackened. Elbereth, he had never thought about who had made the clothes that he had worn after his reawakening or who had made the food. He had been so self-absorbed in his own thoughts, as he presumed were most on being reborn.

“What of Aulë's realm?” he asked then.

Iestir's lip curled. “In Aulë's realm, where most of them work, most of them work as miners.” He took another bite of the piece of bread in his hand.

“Is something wrong with that line of work?” Glorfindel asked, watching Iestir chew, a brooding expression on the elf's lean face.

“Not with the profession,” Iestir said after he had swallowed. “But we have had problems with the supervisors in Aulë's realm: few of them acknowledge the tendency for former thralls to overwork themselves and wait until they are injured before reporting an issue to the orphanage and returning the worker at the same time.”

“Does the orphanage procure the work in the first place?”

“Aye. When we receive a job offer from those realms, we try to find a worker with the abilities and interests to match the offer.” Iestir shook his head. “Aulë is always open to new miners and unfortunately, many of the children born into thraldom are set to work in Sauron's mines so they choose that profession and work at it without knowing exactly how much physical duress their bodies can stand before suffering from injury and when it is acceptable for them to stop work. The supervisers are supposed to identify which elves are overworking themselves, but they rarely do. We rely on other miners to report issues.”

“So is it better for an elf raised by the orphanage to work for Námo or for Aulë?”

“Námo. Definitely,” Iestir said.

“In spite of the atmosphere at Mandos?” Glorfindel had thought, in spite of the communication issues between the orphanage and Aulë's realm, that working for Aulë would still be preferable to working amongst the despair and memories of the disembodied.

“In spite of the atmosphere at Mandos,” Iestir agreed.

Glorfindel nodded slowly and looked back at his meal. He had to admit that he knew little of Aulë's realm... he had thought – vaguely – that it would be a little like Moria before Sauron had invaded it and the characters somewhat dwarf-like. But then again, Aulë's realm had been where Sauron and Curunir had first started out and had made their first reputations.

“Mother, may I borrow your salt shaker? The one by me has disappeared.” A tall elfling clad in breeches and a shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows suddenly wedged themselves between Glorfindel's and Iestir's chairs. Glorfindel looked at the child, whose back was facing him, pale hands clasped together over his sloped buttocks and noticed that there were recent puncture marks on the insides of the elfling's arms. His brow knitted.

“Certainly. And while you are here, let me introduce you to Lord...”

But the elfling had already grabbed the shaker and was walking back to his seat, salt shaker in hand, an absent expression on his face. Iestir looked at Glorfindel. “I apologise for his rudeness.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Forgive me, but those marks on his arms...”

“Oh, Faramir tried a less invasive method of sterilisation on him. As opposed to surgery, he has been injecting a substance that, so far, seems to keep the parasite in its benign immature state.”

“For how much longer will he have to be injected?” Practically and visually Glorfindel did not think the scarring on the elfling's arms was much better than surgical sterilisation... although, if the elfling had some Secondborn blood in him, there was, perhaps, a greater risk of infection with open surgery.

“Forever, but by keeping the parasite alive, it means that if a method of reversing the parasite's sex-changing actions is discovered, he can, one day, become reproductively male. Once one is surgically sterilised, it is difficult – almost impossible – to return one to one's intended sex.”

“Has Faramir had any success in reversing the parasite's actions?”

“Not that I know of, but I am not involved in the work so do not know about his latest discoveries. I have heard tales that there are some experiments being done with the parasites in association with the trial and I think that is the main reason why he decided to become a witness – he wishes to find out what is being done and to get involved in the project, if there is one. Have you heard of the experiments?” When Glorfindel shook his head, Iestir looked disappointed, but unsurprised. “I suspected as much,” he said. “We would have heard of such experiments from an official source if the story had been true. Oh well, I expect Faramir will learn a lot all the same.”

The salt shaker returned to them via the elfling sitting on the other side of Estel's still vacated chair. Glorfindel looked at Lindir's sibling who was sorting out another disagreement between two different elflings who had been throwing food at each other.

“Should I go and help him?” Glorfindel asked, when he saw Estel narrowly miss being hit by an enthusiastically outflung spoon. He looked at Iestir who was smiling absently at the chaos and suddenly wondered if he was the reason why Iestir had not already moved to assist the other adults with the children.

“Nay,” Iestir said. He smiled at Glorfindel's worried look – the complacent mirth in the expression reminded Glorfindel suddenly of Gildor. “They are just playing.” He glanced down at Glorfindel's cleaned plate. “Are you hungry for seconds?”

“Nay.”

“Then, if you wish to help, help me collect the empty plates and return them to the kitchen.” He reached over to take Glorfindel's plate, then rose. Glorfindel followed suit and they picked their way around the table, collecting the plates of those elflings who had finished their meals. Some of the older elflings had already started piling the empty plates and handed the piles to them with smiles for Iestir and curious looks for Glorfindel.

In the kitchen, Glorfindel, on Iestir's instruction, left the plates that he had gathered on a counter in one of the many narrow basins of the long sink. Then he turned to Iestir who was wiping his hands on a damp cloth. “What now?” he asked, glancing at the elf's sinewy forearms. “Estel told me yesterday that he and I would speak more after breakfast today.” He caught the cloth when Iestir threw it at him.

“Then you should go to his study and wait for him. I will return to the dining hall and tell him that you are waiting there for him.”

Glorfindel nodded, then hesitated. “I do not remember the way,” he said then. He smiled apologetically at Gildor's son. “Could you show me the way?”

Iestir smiled, his face softening. “Of course.”

They left a message with one of the elflings who came into the kitchen shortly afterwards with more dirty plates, then Iestir led Glorfindel back to the shadowy corridors and stairwells and they ascended the winding path to Estel's study.

Once inside, Iestir told Glorfindel to sit down on one of the armchairs, and, once Glorfindel had done so, he took the other chair and leaned back comfortably as if he was used to sitting there, which he probably was. There was a short silence.

Then, Iestir said, “Tell me about Gildor.”

Glorfindel looked at him. He scanned Iestir's face and the slight, encouraging smile on it. Then he noticed the gleam in the elf's eyes and felt an uncomfortable curling in his stomach. Iestir knew – the elf had read it in his face last night – or had read it at some time this morning when Glorfindel had looked at him and seen Gildor.

“First tell me what you do know,” he replied cautiously.

“I know that you think fondly of him. I know that you are uncomfortable talking about him with me although you are far from uncomfortable about thinking about him when you are looking at me.”

“You remind me of him.”

“I know.”

Glorfindel glanced at the closed door of the study. It was still shut. He looked at the expectant expression on Iestir's face. If he said it, would Iestir think of him as the reason for his parents' separation – or as some intruder who was preventing their reunion?

He decided that he should speak on it whilst he could, before Iestir heard it from someone else. “We were intimate,” he admitted. He looked closely at Iestir's face – for some display of shock or surprise. There was no such reaction. “As youths, we met at the school at court, as I said earlier to you, and there we also became lovers.”

“But that does not explain your discomfort when talking about him to me.”

“Nay,” Glorfindel agreed. “Later, after the separation, when I came to Middle-earth, we had a casual relationship.”

Iestir nodded. He did not troubled by the news. Indeed, he actually offered Glorfindel a slight smile. “Thank you for telling me. And allay your fears; I have not judged you and bear you no grudge. I have heard that Gildor has always been a wanderer, in everything.”

It was not an inaccurate description of Iestir's father and Glorfindel smiled. There was silence for a while. Glorfindel glanced at the door, which was still closed.

“Do you want a drink?” Iestir suddenly asked. He straightened in his seat.

“Are you having one?” When Iestir nodded, Glorfindel nodded. “Aye, thank you.”

He watched Iestir venture over to one of the corner shelves and take down a bottle and two goblets from amongst Estel's collection of oddments. As the elf was pouring the drinks, the door suddenly opened and one of the children appeared. He looked at Glorfindel first, hesitated, and then, on noticing Iestir standing in the corner, straightened with renewed courage. “Master Iestir?”

Iestir glanced sidelong at the child, a knowing smile on his lips. “Aye, little one. Did Estel send you?” When the child nodded, he smiled and said, “And is Estel to be delayed?”

“Aye, and he sends his apologies.” Here, the child glanced nervously at Glorfindel. Glorfindel inclined his head. The child looked back at Iestir. “He says that he will be along as soon as he is finished at breakfast.”

Iestir nodded. “Very well. Thank you. You may go.”

The child nodded, glanced once more at Glorfindel, then ducked out of the room. The door shut. Glorfindel looked back at Iestir who came over, drinks in hand, and handed him one of the goblets. Glorfindel looked at the colourless liquid sitting at the bottom of his vessel and was suddenly reminded of the cordial of Imladris and its maker, Elrond. He wondered how Elrond was faring on the summit. Before today, Elrond's only experience with Sauron's test subjects was with Lindir. The half-elf had to be learning much that was new to him. He wondered if and how it had changed Elrond's perspective of Lindir.

“Are you close to your adopted children?”

Glorfindel looked up and noticed that Iestir had returned to the armchair across from him. He exhaled and looked back down at his drink.

“Nay,” he admitted. “But I do not consider myself close to any of my children, adopted or no.”

“Were you close to your own father?”

“Nay.” Glorfindel swallowed, his throat feeling thick all of a sudden. “Nay, my father walked out on my mother and I when I was very young – a toddler, actually. I do not see him now.”

“Why did he leave?”

“I do not know. But I know what you are about to ask: has it affected me as a father? Aye, it has; I have tried to always be available to my children, but to let them move freely. I know, from my own childhood, that children will grow up regardless of the presence or absence of their parents.”

“Do you think you may have been too distant?”

“Perhaps. But things have changed so much since the trial – it has divided us. I have no clear perspective on our relationships now.” He spread his hands. “I have one child – Glingal – my youngest – and he does not seem to want to be related to either Lindir or I because of Lindir's background and my attachment to Lindir. And of course, the adopted three – I now feel like I no longer know them – as if I have never known them.” Glorfindel sipped at his drink. It tasted somewhat like Elrond's cordial, but it was stronger and less sweet.

“But elements of their personalities must be the same, surely? They grew up in Imladris, they were raised as Imladrian elves with the language and the culture.”

“Laiglas was not – he was raised in Dol Guldur. Lindo also spent his first few years in thraldom.”

“But Linden was not.”

“Aye, Linden is the most... “elvish” of them, or was until the start of the trial. I do not think she realised her abilities until she learned that she was Sauron's child. I think – I hope – that she is using those abilities to assist Lindir.”

“What of Laiglas and Lindo?”

“I do not know what Laiglas is doing; he has always loathed me and resented the union between Lindir and I. He is, however, extremely protective of Lindir. I hope – as I do with Linden – that he is also helping Lindir.

As for Lindo, I think he is the one who has remained the most unchanged for he continues to spend time amongst elves and his deep friendship with my eldest, Gloredhel, seems unchanged. However, I do think that both Lindo and Laiglas either knew or suspected the identity of their sire before it was revealed at court. I am almost certain that Laiglas knew.”

Iestir nodded thoughtfully. “You do not like Laiglas, do you.” It was not a question.

“Aye,” Glorfindel replied, thinking back to when Laiglas had, on learning of his relationship with Lindir, attacked him and almost broken his nose. “He assaulted me when he learned of my relationship with Lindir and we have disliked and distrusted each other ever since then.”

Iestir nodded again. Glorfindel wondered if Iestir was about to repeat what other well-meaning elves had done previously and suggest that Glorfindel try harder to work with Laiglas.

He was surprised, therefore, when Iestir instead said, quietly, “Some of the children are like that – they hate their own mothers... they blame them for not killing them and instead letting them be taken away and raised in the fiery pits.” He sipped at his drink, then said, “there are many differences between former thralls. Test subjects do not understand much of what life is like for the elves who mine or who work in the fires of the smitheries or who serve the orcs. Similarly, our children, unless they are test subjects themselves, do not understand what it is like to be a test subject. We have children that we do not understand and we regret, although we should not because we had no choice, that we were not there for them during their childhood.” He looked thoughtfully at Glorfindel. “But then, considering your own upbringing and absent father, I wonder how he feels now, seeing you grown up.”

Glorfindel snorted with cold amusement. “He does not see me,” he said. “He only sees me by appointment and his servants make it hard for me to make an appointment with him.”

“I find it interesting that you do not know why he left.”

Glorfindel smiled bitterly. “There are many mysteries within the House of Ingwë.”

“You Vanyarin elves are a strange and elusive lot to the other kindreds,” Iestir said. “You are almost as mysterious as the Ainur and seem to be the closest to them. Perhaps that is why Sauron's trial was held off until Ingwë regained the crown of Elvenhome.”

“Perhaps it was,” Glorfindel agreed. “Certainly, I think the other kindreds would have shown more interest in the trial than the Vanyar had the monarchy been held by Finwë or Olwë.” His brow knitted. “But the orphanage's connections to Aulë's realm and to Mandos lead me to think that the residents here have a closer connection to the Ainur than the Vanyar do.”

“Aye, and I would agree with that observation. Everyone here knows at least someone who is on speaking terms with the Maiar. But Glorfindel, former thralls are an ostracised minority in Elvenhome and most of our members are not full-blooded elves.”

“The trial should have been located here,” Glorfindel said.

“I agree; they should have hosted it here. Most of the witnesses live near here.” Iestir smiled tersely. “But history has not shown the Ainur to be reliable with regards to ridding the world of evil; I expect, once again, that their intentions do not match the promises that they have made to us.”

“What do you think are their intentions?”

“I think...” But just then the door opened and Estel entered, looking apologetic. He had changed his shirt. Iestir rose and with a faint smile to Glorfindel, quietly left the study.

~*~

On hearing footsteps approaching the door of the bathroom, Lindir looked around from where he was sitting at one side of the bath and dangling his lower legs in the warm waters and found his gaze met by Elrond's worried one. He looked back down at the water.

“You do not need to be worried about me,” he said. “The healers that Eönwë summons know what to do should anything go wrong.”

“Aye, but I suspect that the child is their priority, not you.”

Lindir kicked at the water. His toes were wrinkled. “Aye, but I am carrying the child so they have to look after me.” _For now, anyway,_ he added in his thoughts.

“What about after the birth of the child?” Elrond ventured, following his thoughts all too closely for Lindir's comfort. Lindir felt angry tears prick his eyes.

“I do not know.”

“Do you know what is to happen to you? Have you made arrangements with Glorfindel?”

Lindir drew in his lower lip between his teeth, held it for a few moments, then let it slide loose. He suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to ask Elrond about Glorfindel. What was Glorfindel doing? Where was Glorfindel? Had the elf written to him? Had the elf spoken to Elrond about him? “The future... will bring what it brings.”

“So you have not made any plans?”

Lindir turned his head and glared at him through his tears, “You think I can make plans in here?” he snapped. “I have not been outside or allowed a visitor of my own in months! I am not even sure why you are here.” Just when he had established that all that Manwë and Eönwë had in store for him was misery and he was growing used to being treated as if he was nothing more than some strange insignificant plaything for them to prod and poke, they put Elrond in with him.

There was a short silence.

Then Lindir ventured awkwardly, “I apologise. I expect you are even more confused than I.”

“On the contrary, it seems your rage is justified,” Elrond replied. Lindir glanced sidelong at him and briefly met the half-elf's grave eyes before looking back at the water. “Indeed, it seems as though your situation is not that different from that of a test subject in Barad-dur.”

Lindir's face clouded. Elrond was right, of course. If he had been Iestir or Faramir or Halmir, his current situation would have felt identical to thraldom, if not better for the reduced threat of violence. But of course, he had not been a thrall like them; he had been Sauron's favourite, he had been a caretaker...

“You were right, Elrond,” he said then.

“With regards to what?”

“When I came to Imladris, you were right to think me a suspicious former thrall.”

There was a short silence. Then Elrond said, sounding both slightly amused and confused. “I _have_ been following the trial, child, and have spoken with many thralls since my arrival at the summit. I already know about your relationship with Sauron, your role as a caretaker in the laboratories, and the parentage of Laiglas, Lindo and Linden.”

Lindir fell silent. He had forgotten somewhat the fact that although he was currently isolated, he still existed in the memories of others and communicated to the audience of the courtroom by way of mediated recollections.

“I should add,” Elrond said, “that I disagree with you. You were not a threat to Imladris and I was mistaken to mistrust you without trying you.”

“Well, I think Glorfindel was mistaken to trust me,” Lindir said. “I should have been open with him from the start.”

“Certainly, I think the revelations of the trial were a great shock to him. He has a great heart, Lindir, and he has overcome other heartaches, but I think – we can both safely say – that the injury that you have dealt him will be his hardest to overcome.”

“There is no hope that we will reunite,” Lindir said thoughtfully. “It took much for an elf with his attitude towards relationships to commit to me.” He kicked idly at the water. “I hid too much of myself; I tried too hard to take on his own values and be someone of whom he could think well. But now he knows that I do not hate Sauron or orcs and have willingly lived with them... indeed, am bonded to Sauron. I cannot imagine how betrayed he must feel.”

“There is always hope.”

Lindir shot Elrond a sidelong, doubtful look. “Glorfindel has based his whole life around fighting the so-called evil in our world. His world view is in black and white.”

“In Middle-earth, maybe that was the case. In Valinor, black and white – especially with Glorfindel and his history with his family – things are not so easily divided for him.”

“I do not know much of his family, though I am aware that he has had disagreements with them. Neither of us are close to our families so we did not discuss them.”

Elrond's brow rose. Lindir wondered what he was thinking about and whether Elrond was thinking of the dealings that he had had with Lindir's own parents so long ago at Gil-galad's court. “Well...” the half-elf said finally, “regardless of what you do or do not know about his troubles with them, I will tell you that maybe the shock that you have dealt him is the provocation he needs to work through his difficulties with them.”

Lindir said nothing. He looked back at the white outline of his feet below the surface of the water and thought back to his constant feeling of unease when he had been living as a guest in Ingwë's house and of how easily Eönwë had moved through the corridors of that house to harass and assault him.

“I do not dislike you, Lindir,” Elrond said suddenly. Lindir looked back at the half-elf. “I have never disliked you, but I admit that I have frequently – in the past – been frustrated and worried about you. Perhaps you mistook that for dislike.”

Lindir frowned at him.

“I am right in thinking that you think that I do not like you, am I not?”

“Aye,” Lindir responded, thinking that there was no reason not to admit the truth. “That is what I used to think and I have never felt comfortable in your presence.”  
“What caused you to think that I might dislike you?”

“I am not sure,” Lindir said. He drew in his lower lip again as he thought back on this deep-seated unease, something that had followed him since before he had ventured to Eregion, since before his association with Annatar. Then his brow knitted. “Actually, I do.”

~*~

Lindir knew, at the back of his mind, that at sometime one of his teachers would hunt him down and summon him to an office to speak privately to him about the fact that he had not bothered to hand in any work since the harvest festival six weeks earlier.

He was unsure of what would happen if he failed the subject. Would he have to repeat some of the year's work? Would Lord Elrond, who was in charge of the curriculum, disregard the fact that he had not submitted any work and let him proceed to the next year with the rest of his class as Lindir had heard rumour was not unknown.

Curled up underneath a desk in a back corner of the library, he drew squiggles on the margins of one of the latest children's books that he had taken from a nearby display shelf. He had picked it up because liked the look of the illustrations. The toddler class did not visit the library on this day of the week so he was fairly sure that no one would notice him if he stayed under the desk all day.

He had taken to skipping classes a few weeks after the harvest festival and hiding from his tutors. No one had said anything. The other students barely noticed him as it was and if they did, they only saw him as the little brother of Estel the clever elf who was getting one-on-one tutoring with Lord Elrond himself.

Currently, Estel was away – had been so since the harvest festival – he was away with some other older students on a field trip in Harlindon. Lindir missed him. Recently, worried about his tutors visiting him and chastising him in front of the other students, he had taken to sleeping in Estel's deserted dormitory.

He drew a beard on one of the drawn characters in the book – some elf on a ship. He had heard that Lord Cirdan was sprouting a beard. Lindir wondered vaguely if he would sprout one too when he got to the shipwright's age. He looked at the elf with the attache beard done in graphite and then, after a moment's pause, added some fangs as well. That would aid the mariner in eating the fish that he undoubtedly would catch from the sea.

He added a tail. The mariner could now jump from the side of the ship and go swimming in the sea and eat his fill of fish like a real shark.

He stilled then when he heard footsteps – two sets of them – coming towards the children's area. He wriggled right to the back of the desk so that neither would see his legs if they looked down.

“That is strange; someone has removed it,” said a voice. Lindir recognised it as belonging to one of the librarians. On peeking down at the elves' legs, he recognised the robes of the librarian. He did not, however, recognise the other's robes. They looked richly embroidered though. His brow knitted.

“Perhaps someone has borrowed it,” suggested the other elf. On the hearing the voice, Lindir swallowed hard. Oh Elbereth, it was Lord Elrond. He shrunk back further beneath the desk.

“Impossible. It would be down on the borrowing register and I have been attending the desk all morning,” the librarian said. “I expect one of the junior scholars is looking at it.”

“No matter. I can look at it later,” Elrond said. There was the sound of books being shifted and opened. “Oh hello... someone has been drawing in this one – this elf has sprouted an interesting pair of fangs.”

Beneath the desk, Lindir cringed. Ai!

“Oh, that is a charming thing to do,” the librarian hissed, sounding greatly annoyed. “You know, this is why I asked for the children's area to be moved further out into the open. The number of books that have been defaced in the last couple of months has shot up. It is too hard to supervise this area.”

“I agree – I have included the suggestion in the renovations to be done next summer,” Elrond said. “Do you know the culprit?”

“Well, I suspect one elfling who has been skulking in and out of the library on occasion at strange hours of the day for a few weeks now. I did not mention it to you because he is the brother of Estel, who I know you are tutoring individually. I assumed that the younger brother is also being tutored one-on-one.”

“Nay, he is not. Is he here today?”

Lindir held his breath.

“Nay, I have not seen him.”

Lindir exhaled softly. Oh, thank Elbereth!

“If you see him again, escort him to my study.”

“Oh? Is he in trouble?”

“Aye. He has not turned up for any of his classes since the harvest festival and we have had trouble locating him although we know that he is still in the citadel. We are more worried than anything at the moment.”

“Have you contacted his parents?”

“Aye, but I have advised them to wait until I have spoken to Lindir and worked out what is going on instead of asking them to come to the citadel. They live a few leagues away and are not as well off as most of the other families – it is difficult for them find the time to travel the distance.”

Lindir bit his lip. He hoped that Elrond would not summon his parents. That would be embarrassing and his parents would be very angry with him for making them come to the citadel. He felt tears prick his eyes and blinked them back.

“What is the matter with the child, do you think?” the librarian asked.

“I am not certain. He is a strange child; he does not seem to have made any friends in spite of the fact that he has been a student here for six years. This is, however, his first year with the senior elflings and with me so maybe he is struggling with the material and the higher expectations.”

“Has he made enemies?”

“Nay. He seems have neither friends nor enemies. His only friend is his brother who is on a field trip at the moment. Perhaps that why he has started skipping classes.”

“Is he clever? Estel is on a scholarship, is he not?”

“Aye, Estel is. And aye, Lindir is clever when he tries, but he rarely tries. I think I will have to make him repeat this year's work. He was barely passing up until the harvest festival.”

“Repeating will not change anything, though.”

“Well, it will shake him up, but aye, I do not think it will change anything. Something else is troubling him.”

“Or not. Perhaps his parents did his application test for him,” the librarian suggested.

“Ha. Nay, although I admit I would not put it past them.” Elrond sounded amused. Lindir flushed under the table. Actually, his mother had answered some of the questions in the test for him. Elrond had him all figured out.

“Perhaps you should send him home.”

“I may,” Elrond agreed. “I will have to if things do not change.”

~*~

“You were under the desk?” Elrond echoed after Lindir had finished his story. The half-elf stared across the bathroom at him.

Lindir flushed and nodded. Personally, he was amazed that Elrond remembered that conversation with the librarian at all. He drew his legs out of the water and crossed them beneath him, and then, on noticing that his robe was wrinkled over the top of the swelling at his belly, pulled down the cloth so that the creases were smoothed out.

Movement in Elrond's direction caught his eye and he turned his head to observe the half-elf approach and sit down beside him.

“Well, your recollection only illustrates my point,” Elrond said as he took off his shoes, pulled his robe up to his knees, and stuck his feet in the steaming water. “I was worried about you. I did not dislike you.”

“True,” Lindir agreed. “But I mistook your concern and persistence in monitoring me then for dislike. I know now, of course, that you were doing your job. But to me, as an elfling new to the senior education system at court, I saw you as drawing embarrassing attention to me.”

“Then you should have tried harder.”

“Aye, but I was not interested in studying. I did not want to be at the citadel. Rightly, I should not have been there; I cheated on the test.”

“That issue aside – and I am sure other successful applicants cheated – Estel told me, when I asked him about you when he returned from that field trip, that you did not wish to stay at home.”

Lindir pursed his lips. “Estel was my best friend,” he said. “I wanted to be with him. That was why I hid; we came from a small village and to me – I am not as social and adventurous as Estel – the citadel was a terrifying and lonely place.”

Elrond said nothing, but his attentive gaze told Lindir that he was listening carefully to him. Lindir exhaled and looked down at his calves. Then a thought struck him and he looked at Elrond. “Do you know what Estel is doing now?”

“I do,” Elrond said with a sudden, warm smile. The smile faded on seeing Lindir's hopeful expression. “But... due to your internment, you do not,” he realised. His face clouded.

“What is he doing?” Lindir asked, unwilling to have Elrond's attention return to the reason for his isolation and the identity of the sire of the child that he was carrying.

“Well, most of the former thralls who I have met on the summit seem to know him. After Imladris was founded, he developed an interest in the societies of orcs... which ultimately led to his death. But on his resurrection, he founded an organisation, of sorts, of former thralls which services the needs of former thralls and their children – in particular – orphans and those in need of lodgings and work.” He laughed at Lindir's stunned expression.

“Are you jesting?” Lindir asked, unsure of how to take this revelation.

Elrond shook his head. “Nay. Nay, I am not jesting.”

“Elbereth!” Lindir uttered. “What was he thinking?”

“Well, according to some of the former thralls, he was thinking of you... and the other elves whose bodies were unaccounted for in Eregion's ruins. His desire to see you again led to his friendships with former thralls and those friendships led to his perception of a need for services within that community of elves.”

Lindir swallowed and looked down at the water. He did not know what to say. There had to be some exaggeration in the tale. Estel had never shown much interest in him when they had been students at court; indeed, Lindir thought that in hindsight he had been a dreadful irritant and embarrassment for his older brother. And then, there had been the letters that he had sent to Estel in Lindon from Eregion, letters that had all gone unanswered by his older brother. Nay, there had to be some exaggeration in the tale. Elrond would not lie to him so it had to be that those witnesses to whom Elrond had been talking had been jesting to the half-elf. Perhaps they had known that Estel had been one of Elrond's pupils and decided to play on the half-elf's memories and sentiments. He exhaled and closed his eyes. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. Why had he let Elrond think that he had once thought that Elrond disliked him? Why had he let Elrond's enquiries about the sire of his child lead to the enquiry that named Sauron? He opened his eyes and rose.

“Excuse me,” he muttered as he left Elrond and returned to the bedroom. He noticed that Eönwë was sitting at the dining table and observing him, and could not deny that he was relieved to see the Maia.

“Are you here to interview me?” he asked as he approached the Maia. Eönwë inclined his head and so Lindir sat down opposite him and looked across the table at the sharp blue eyes. His face felt slack and his head ached, but he did not feel like crying. Instead he felt tense – tense and resentful and bitter. He felt like crushing something, he felt like clawing something, felt like strangling something... but the problem was that the person that he felt most like hurting was himself.

Chapter 45  
Glorfindel traced the outline of the clouds visible through Gildor's bedroom window with an outstretched finger. The Tree of Laurelin had cast them in a golden light and they shone soft and precious, like strange spun silk in the sky.

Glorfindel turned his head to see more of the clouds and, on feeling the half-clothed body of the elfling resting against him shift sleepily, he glanced at Gildor's slumbering form and smiled. Gildor's skin was, like everything else, tinged faintly gold. He scanned the elfling's face, peaceful in sleep, and then, a playful thought striking him, he carefully reached between them to slide his hand down Gildor's bare abdomen and into the elfling's loincloth to grasp the other elfling's penis. He massaged it slowly, observing Gildor's expression closely, suppressing a laugh when he saw lust fill those sleeping eyes and then Gildor pull a face and whimper as he came into Glorfindel's face.

“What are you doing?” Gildor accused him when he had recovered and realised what had happened. He looked down and blinked when he saw Glorfindel's hand slide out of his loincloth and back up his abdomen and chest, smearing seed across his skin. “What if someone had walked in?”

“You were sleeping against me,” Glorfindel replied, rubbing a hand against Gildor's uppermost breast. “I got ideas.”

Gildor flushed. “It is _my_ bed,” he said, pushing away Glorfindel's hand and sitting up. “I cannot help that I am used to rolling all over it when I sleep. You said you were to tired to walk back to your bedroom at the boarding house so I let you sleep over; that was not an invitation for us to lie together again.” He stood up and went over to the wash basin in the corner to wet a cloth and wipe his chest free of the ejaculate that Glorfindel had wiped on his skin.

Glorfindel observed him and his eyes narrowed when Gildor loosened the front of his loincloth and slid the wet cloth down there to clean his genitals. “So have I offended you?”

Gildor did not answer immediately. He threw the cloth in a nearby basket and did his loincloth back up. “Nay, he said then, casting Glorfindel an awkward, sidelong look, “but do not do it again. If I want to do it again, I will tell you.” He turned away and went over to his wardrobe.

“You did not tell me the first time we did it,” Glorfindel said, pushing himself up into a sitting position so that he could better see the other elfling. He watched Gildor open the doors of the wardrobe and start searching through the shirts hanging therein. “Are you saying that you would rather not do it with me?”

“Well... aye.” Gildor pulled out a green shirt and shrugged it on.

Glorfindel felt his jaw tighten. He looked back at the window. For a few minutes the only sound to be heard was the sound of Gildor fumbling with his clothes.

“I like...” Gildor started to say then. Glorfindel turned his head to observe the elfling standing at his dressing table, one foot on the stool, and doing up the laces of a suede bootee.

“You like what?” he asked.

Gildor shot him an assessing look. “I like you, Glorfindel,” he repeated as he straightened and reached for a hairbrush with which to neaten his long brown tresses, “but you are a strange elfling. You should talk to someone.”

“Talk to someone?” Glorfindel echoed. He bristled. “Talk to who? Talk to who about what?”

Gildor pulled a face at him in the mirror. “Stop pretending, you fool! Talk to one of the boarding house prefects, perhaps – talk about your mother, your father, and whoever is sleeping with you and teaching you what you are showing me.”

Glorfindel's jaw tightened again. He felt tears threaten to prick his eyes so he looked back out of the window and waited until the threat of tears had abated. He was not a child. He looked at the stool beneath the window on which he had cast his cloak. His shoes sat beneath. He exhaled heavily, closed his eyes briefly, then rose and reached for the items. When he had donned them, he turned and stalked silently to Gildor's bedroom door. As he passed Gildor, who was still at the dressing table, the other elfling said, in a voice that sounded faintly apologetic, “I will see you tomorrow in class.”

Glorfindel did not respond. He left the other elfling's room and climbed the half-hour walk to the citadel at the hill of Túna and the student boarding house therein. He absently responded to some of the passerbys' greetings, not really noticing them. When he arrived at his room, he was almost lifted out of his melancholic stupor by the letter lying on his desk.

On opening it, however, and finding it only a short note from the House of Ingwë that informed him that his monthly allowance had been transferred to his account with the palace treasury, he pushed it idly off the desk and went to lie down on his bed. Through his bedroom window, he could see the same clouds. He stared at them for a while, then rose, and went over to the window to close the shutters.

~*~

“May I ask you a question about your childhood?” Glorfindel ventured late one night when he and Lindir were both in bed.

There was no immediate response from the other side of the bed and Glorfindel wondered, for a few moments, if Lindir had already fallen asleep. But then Lindir murmured something indecipherable.

“Pardon?” Glorfindel turned his head to look at the elf lying on his front, his head plopped face-first on his pillow, thus the muffled voice.

There was no response for another while. But then, Lindir stirred and rolled onto his side to look at him through a cascade of brown locks. “I am listening,” the elf said in a dazed, sleepy voice.

“Were you friends with your parents?”

Lindir blinked tiredly at him through the curtain of tresses. Finally, he gave a little yawn and said, “Nay. They sent me to boarding school when I was a junior elfling afterwhich I only saw them few times.” He regarded Glorfindel absently for a while, then yawned again and said, “Was that all?”

“Mm.”

“What about _your_ parents? Were you friends?”

“Nay.” Glorfindel wondered, for a few moments, how to explain his family situation to Lindir. He decided, after some thought, that it was too complicated. Then he rethought this and decided that he had better say something so he said, “they sent me to boarding school when I was a junior elfling too.”

Lindir blinked at him a few more times, then rolled back onto his front. His breathing slowed and became more even, indicating that he was asleep. Glorfindel put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom... nay, _their_ bedroom. He had to start thinking of his rooms as theirs.

 _It would seem that neither of us have experienced much in the way of happy and close parent-child relations,_ he thought. _I wonder what our children will think of us._

~*~

“That was my mother,” was the first thing Ecthelion said to Glorfindel that morning when the other elfling – who lived in the neighbouring room in the boarding house – poked his head into Glorfindel's room in the boarding house. Glorfindel looked around at him from where he sat at his desk next to his window, scribbling notes for an essay for his tutor in botany. “As you may have overheard from our conversation in the corridor, she would like for you to come with our family to the beach on the weekend.”

Glorfindel just blinked, his mind still trying to process the thought that had been in his head before Ecthelion had intruded into his room uninvited.

“I will take that as a resounding 'aye', then,” Ecthelion said, and leaned out of the room to inform his mother of the agreeable news. A few moments later, he swung back in. “She wishes to know your favourite colour.”

When Glorfindel again gave no response, Ecthelion agreeably swung back out. When his head reappeared, he told him the answer that he had provided to his mother. “I told her it was white. At least then, if you hate whatever she intends to get for you, it will get stained so quickly that you will soon be able to discard it.”

“I wish you would do everything for me,” Glorfindel said. He had decided, on finally registering the news that he was to spend the weekend on the sands of Eldamar with Ecthelion's family, to discard his studious thought.

“I wish someone would do everything for me,” Ecthelion answered readily, a bright smile on his face. “So, my friend, what have you done to Gildor? He has not eaten lunch with us in the dining hall for a few days and looking very awkward in Finrod’s company yesterday afternoon.”

Glorfindel thought back to Gildor's words to him those few days ago when he had coerced Gildor into taking him to his rooms.

_You are a strange one. Talk to one of the boarding house prefects, perhaps – talk about your mother, your father, and whoever is sleeping with you and teaching you what you are showing me._

“Maybe he has to catch up on some work,” he said. It was a lie and he knew Ecthelion knew it – Gildor _never_ had to catch up on study. The elf and his brother, Guilin, were perfectionists and the pair's peer group, which was headed by Prince Finrod, was the darling of the court.

Ecthelion's brow rose, but after shooting Glorfindel a narrow look, the other elfling played into his pretence and said, “Maybe.”

“Ecthelion...”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I am strange?”

An amused smile pulled at the corner of Ecthelion's lips. “Delightfully so. That is why I am friends with you.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel said, with a chuckle. “And that is why I am friends with you.”

A female voice spoke from beyond the door, speaking Ecthelion's name. Ecthelion looked away. “I have to go,” he said apologetically.

“Then I shall see you later,” Glorfindel said, smiling. He watched the door close, then looked back down – blankly and still smiling – at his scribbled essay.

He had first met Ecthelion when he came to the boarding house. They had both arrived at the same time, were both about the same age, and both children of the city of Tirion. To Glorfindel, who had been struggling to understand the reasons for his father's disappearance and his mother's decision to send him away to school in spite of the fact that the family house was only a few blocks away from the citadel, it was comforting to know that Ecthelion, in spite of the elfling's large and bountifully supportive family, was in a similar situation; Ecthelion's family also lived only a few blocks away from the citadel. When he had been younger, Glorfindel had sometimes wished that he were Ecthelion's brother. Sometimes, he still wished.

He worked a while longer on his essay. When he heard the door open again, he thought it was Ecthelion and said, without looking around, “That was quick. Your mother tired of you so soon?”

“What was quick?”

On hearing the voice, Glorfindel looked around, startled. He stared doubtfully at Gildor, who had entered and shut the door behind him. There was a brooding expression on the other elfling's face, who was not looking at him but at the stone floor. “What do you want?” What else could the other elfling add to what he had said the other day? Perhaps the elfling had come to apologise to him.

Gildor had. “I owe you an apology,” the elfling said quietly, looking at his feet. “I was rude to you the other day.”

“Regarding?” Glorfindel said it only to watch Gildor stew a little longer.

“I said you were strange and... and told you to talk to one of the boarding house prefects about your parents.” Gildor swallowed and glanced at him. His face was red. “It was not my place to mention your parents. Or your other lover. I do not know anything about them.”

“You are right,” Glorfindel agreed, observing Gildor's humiliated look and wondering why the other elfling had decided to self-flagellate himself by coming to apologise to him. “You do not know anything about them at all.” He weighed his next words carefully, then decided to throw caution to the wind and added, “Especially as the other lover happens to be a boarding house prefect.”

Gildor's eyes widened. There was a long silence.

Then Gildor said, looking at him worriedly. “Are you jesting with me?”

“Nay,” Glorfindel said. He could see Gildor considering carefully his last words, trying to figure out which of the six prefects it could be.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” the other elfling asked then, after another silence. He looked confused now, as if he was unsure as to why Glorfindel might be in a relationship with one of the seniors, as if he doubted the fact that both parties might be fully consenting to the affair.

“Nay.”

There was yet another silence. Perhaps Gildor was waiting for further details regarding the other lover. Perhaps Gildor was simply still puzzled. Finally, Gildor swallowed again and said, “Were you with him when you approached me?”

“Aye.” Glorfindel thought that it might cause more trouble to deny it than to admit it. He watched Gildor fidget with the end of his tunic. Finally, the other elfling spoke once more.

“Could we, perhaps, pretend that I never said what I said and that we are still lovers?”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. He opened his mouth to remind Gildor of Gildor's rejection of him in the other elfling's bedroom those few days earlier. Then, as it occurred to him how much tension venturing such a comment could cause between them, he just nodded and held out his arms. “Come here,” he said.

~*~

Although both Gildor and Lindir had accepted his advances and allowed him to seduce them with a comparable nervousness, the similarities stopped there. Lindir had been no stranger to intimacy. Glorfindel had been surprised and also pleased. His nature at the time had been to embrace brief affairs without commitment and the realisation that Lindir had experience had led him to think that perhaps Lindir, too, shared his casual perspective towards such relationships. How wrong he had been!

As far as he knew, neither his children nor his three adopted children had followed him in his rejection of monogamy prior to marriage. The very idea of Laiglas with anyone – even in friendship – seemed unlikely. As for Lindo and Linden – both of those elves stuck very much to themselves and Gloredhel, although slightly more outgoing, was still retiring when it came to the opposite sex.

Of all of them, Glingal had shown the most interest in amorous relationships, but whether the elf had actually engaged in the act, Glorfindel knew not. He could not imagine it. Privately, he was of the opinion that his children – when it came to love – were more deserving of the word “Strange” than he had been as a youth.

“Do you think our children are still virgins?” he once ventured to Lindir one morning in Imladris, some few centuries into their marriage. They had been lying in bed and lazily, playfully, exploring each other's bodies. Lindir's brow rose on hearing his enquiry.

“What business is it of ours?” he asked, raising his head from where he had been laving kisses to Glorfindel's abdomen.

Glorfindel observed the genuinely puzzled expression on the other elf's face with interest. “That was not my question. Am I not supposed to wonder?” he asked.

“Certainly, I am not criticising your curiosity,” Lindir said with a complacent smile. He folded his arms on Glorfindel's lower ribcage and leaned his chin on them.

“Then indulge me with your thoughts. Personally, save perhaps for Laiglas, I think all of them are uncommonly disinterested in that type of intercourse.”

“I think...” Lindir said thoughtfully, a smile on his face, “that they get up to a great deal of mischief that remains and will ever continue to remain unknown to either of us.” He laughed suddenly. “I honestly think that I do not know and would not mind if it remained that way so long as none of them are hurt.”

Glorfindel's face softened. “A kind way to excuse yourself from a mirthful storm of ideas.”

Lindir laughed again. “I must confess I am at this time more interested in physical than mental pleasures.” He pointedly squeezed the side of Glorfindel's right buttock with his hand as he said this. Glorfindel squirmed and Lindir laughed again.

“What a selfish parent to put yourself before your children.” Glorfindel mock-chastised as he watched Lindir, by way of apology, shift further down the bed to start nuzzling at the point where his abdomen met with his pelvis.

“Indeed. But I know that I am safe from further reprimand because I know that you feel the same way as I,” Lindir replied before shooting him one last amused look before reaching back behind them to grasp the sheets that had been pushed back and deftly pulling them over his head and Glorfindel's lower body at the same time. Glorfindel groaned.

~*~

He had lied, of course, when he had told Gildor that he was in no trouble regarding his first lover. But it was not the sort of trouble that could be reported. His trouble was simply that whilst he loved Penlod, Penlod did not love him. At all.

In hindsight, Glorfindel understood why the senior student – and later captain of the House of the Pillar and Tower of Snow – had chosen to seduce him for reasons additional to Glorfindel's looks. Glorfindel had had few close friends aside from Ecthelion, was estranged from his family, had been on many of the same sports teams as Penlod, and often saw the tall, white-haired, intense-looking prefect in the library where he sometimes studied alone.

Indeed, it was in the library where Penlod had first approached him. Glorfindel had spent most of the afternoon at a desk hidden behind a number of book aisles struggling through the exercises in an arithmetic assignment that his teacher had asked him to resubmit. There had been tears and frustration.

And then, just as he had been about to give up, Penlod – whose approach Glorfindel had not noticed – suddenly leaned down from behind him. His broad chest had pressed down on Glorfindel's back and without a word, he had – his own pen in hand – deftly scribbled the answers to the remaining four questions of the assignment.

The sleeve of the senior's prefect tunic felt heavy and luxurious against Glorfindel's dehydrated skin. On twisting around, wide-eyed, to identify his saviour, Glorfindel had been assaulted by the sheer size of the senior who was well over a foot taller than him. His cheek rubbed luxuriously against Penlod's chest – clad in the same tunic – as he turned.

He observed Penlod's face, framed by long snow-white braids. Penlod was not looking at him, but at the assignment, and Glorfindel briefly scanned the chiselled, intense face that he was used to seeing from a distance at assemblies at court or on the other side of the lake during swimming class, but never – never – so close. He swallowed then, when Penlod's attentive eyes shifted to regard him. The eyes scanned his face, slid slowly down Glorfindel's front, then abruptly flicked back to resume the connection between their eyes. There was no readable expression on his face, but behind those eyes, Glorfindel sensed that the thought was far from paternal. His stomach curled nervously.

“Come see me tonight after you have seen your teacher and supped,” the elf said quietly. It was not voiced as a request. Then the prefect stepped away and strode away.

Glorfindel looked back at the assignment and observed that Penlod had flipped the pages back to the front page of the original assignment – to the red inked marks that had damned Glorfindel to undertake the torment of the assignment a second time. Glorfindel swallowed and closed the book. He looked at the window. It was already almost suppertime. He should hurry to find his teacher before the supper bells sounded.

Penlod's rooms – like the other prefect rooms – were in a wing of the palace slightly removed from the rest of the boarding house. No elflings lived in this wing; they were all past their majority, and the sedateness of the passageways reflected this maturity for they looked exactly like an extension of the King's own halls, which Glorfindel had once observed on a tour of the citadel that he had taken on his initial orientation. The corridors lining the rooms belonging to the junior students were painted in bright colours and hung about with many pieces of artwork wrought by the hands of the junior art classes.

He found Penlod's door and knocked. A few moments later, Penlod opened the door. “Come in,” the prefect told him, a flicker of a smile on his face. As he obeyed and trotted into the middle of the prefect's room, Glorfindel felt the prefect's eyes scanning his body just as they had done in the library only a few hours earlier. He smiled awkwardly and wondered once again exactly why he had obeyed the summons. He also wondered if he should, perhaps, have left a note telling Ecthelion of where he had gone. And then he suddenly heard the door shut and a lock click. He turned and saw Penlod pocketing a key. The elf met his gaze. “Are you afraid?”

It must have been written across his face. Glorfindel swallowed as he watched Penlod approach him, the senior shrugging off his tunic. “A... little.” He watched Penlod cast the tunic across a nearby chair.

“Then you had better sit down,” Penlod advised him as he came right up to Glorfindel. He rested his hands on either side of Glorfindel's head. A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Or lie down.”

Glorfindel flushed, then tensed when Penlod suddenly leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. It was the first time anyone had kissed him. He stared at Penlod when the elf pulled back and smiled at him – a smile that he had taken to be affection, though in hindsight it could just as easily have been smug amusement. Regardless of the expression behind it, it had relaxed him and when Penlod had leaned in to kiss him again, he had done his best to respond pleasingly to the kiss and the kisses that followed until Penlod had had him in such a daze, the senior's skilled fingers already pushing Glorfindel's shirt from his shoulders, a thigh already between Glorfindel's legs and contributing to Glorfindel's growing arousal, that Glorfindel could no longer concentrate on what he knew of the act in theory and succumbed to instinct.

Penlod had him six times on the bed that night and each time seemed only more beautiful than the time before. The elf knew that it was painful for him and his first time, but seemed also to know exactly how to ease him into it time and time again. By the time it was breakfast, he could hardly walk. He wished, as he observed the light of Telperion wax through the window, that he could stay that day. But Penlod would not let him. The tall elf helped him out of the bed and to his bath where they washed. Then he dressed and helped the giggling Glorfindel on with his clothes and gave him one of his own loincloths as Glorfindel's own was too stained. Then he bundled Glorfindel out of his room and down to the breakfast hall.

“Will I see you again?” Glorfindel asked Penlod two days later, when he saw the senior student at the lake one afternoon, undressing alone in preparation for taking a dip. Glorfindel had not suffered from any misconception that Penlod might love him and so had not dared to make his way back to Penlod's rooms without an invitation to that wing, but he had spent more time at the lake ever since that night in hope of catching Penlod when the elf came out to swim. He was relieved, glad, and nervous when his hopes were finally answered.

The elf, always so serious on initial impressions, smiled faintly at him as he unfastened his white stockings. He had already cast off his tunic and shirt. “How is your rear end?” he asked.

“Healed.” Glorfindel glanced awkwardly at Penlod's bare chest. Just the sight of it made him feel weak with desire.

The smile widened slightly. “Then undress and swim with me.”

“A-aye.”

They swam for a while that afternoon – sometimes competitively, usually playfully. Glorfindel was beyond exhausted when Penlod finally announced that they should return to the boarding house. He had been so eager to spend time with and please the older student that he had ignored his body's own limits and pushed them. As he stumbled out of the lake, he was therefore extremely disappointed (but also rather relieved) when Penlod, on looking at him, seemed to see through the brave facade and instead of inviting Glorfindel back to his rooms, instead escorted Glorfindel back to Glorfindel's where he told him to go to bed.

“I will contact you tomorrow,” the prefect told him before leaving him there, feeling rather foolish outside his room. “Rest well.”

But true to his word, in spite of Glorfindel's fears that Penlod might think him a fool for trying to impress him with his physical prowess, Penlod did approach him the following day. The older student summoned him by way of a younger student – a messenger – to Penlod's rooms.

Penlod was as attentive and as affectionate as he had been on their first time. Still, Glorfindel knew, from the casual skill with which Penlod toyed with his body, from Penlod's disinterest in sharing his personal life with Glorfindel, from Penlod's unlikely friendships with other students, that although Penlod did care for him in some regard, Penlod had no intention of becoming anything more than a friend to him.

Far from begrudge Penlod this attitude towards relationships, Glorfindel admired him. The elf was clever, respected, determined, idealistic, athletic, handsome, extremely charismatic, a sexual predator, and entirely without regret. He, in fact, was exactly the sort of elf that Glorfindel wanted to become. Even after marriage and children had mellowed the impulsiveness and constrained the sexuality of the Captain of the House of the Pillar and Tower of Snow, Glorfindel continued to admire him.

“Why not try to please me with your lips and tongue?” Penlod suggested quietly on their third encounter. He had cornered Glorfindel in a deserted series of library aisles – backed the smaller elfling against the shelves and pressed a hand against Glorfindel's already burgeoning arousal.

Glorfindel stared up at him, breathing hard.

“Are you afraid that you will not please me?” Penlod whispered, squeezing gently. Glorfindel grabbed the edge of the shelves to regain his balance. Penlod's eyes were dancing – playful, aroused, daring – carefree. Elbereth, Glorfindel wanted him. He wanted Penlod to want him – to use him – anything to draw this elf closer to him, to draw this elf inside him.

“A-a-aye.”

“Would you like to learn how to please me thus?”

“A-a-aye.”

A smile on his face, Penlod kissed his cheek lightly, then whispered in his ear, “Get to it, then.”

“Eh? Here?” Glorfindel looked up and down the deserted aisle. In the distance, he could hear the hushed chatter of voices.

“Certainly.” Penlod stood back slightly and Glorfindel, swallowing, knelt down and, hands trembling, reached beneath Penlod's tunic and undid the laces of the elf's stockings. He could feel Penlod's hardening penis through the material and as he drew apart the ties, he saw that Penlod was wearing no loincloth.

Penlod shifted slightly, widened his stance. On looking up, Glorfindel saw that Penlod had folded his arms on one of the shelves and was looking down at him through the gap. The elf smiled at him, encouraging him. Glorfindel looked obediently back at the erection and reached out to take it in hand and begin stroking it in a way akin to the way with which he pleasured himself. As he felt it swell further, emboldened, he leaned in and took the tip in his mouth, slid the tip of his tongue into the slit.

After Penlod had come and he had swallowed, Penlod fastened his softening penis back into the confines of his clothing and knelt down to kiss him. “You could do with practice, but for a first timer... that was admirable,” he said quietly. He wiped the corners of Glorfindel's lips with his thumbs. Glorfindel flushed.

In later years, Glorfindel would use the exact same words to stroke the pride of his own embarrassed young lovers, the first of whom would have been Gildor.

~*~

He first met Gildor when he had volunteered to help lead an orientation of the new students and their parents around the classrooms at court. Gildor was no stranger to court – he lived in Tirion and his father was close to High Prince Finarfin, but he had been new to the classrooms and so demonstrated a higher degree of self-assurance than the other new students. He had drifted alone – without an adult relative – at the back of the small group and it was this fact that had prompted Glorfindel to first approach the other elfling at lunch.

“You should stand in front of the adults, Gildor,” he told the elfling in the garden, once the rest of the group – who had gone off to gather around the tables of food and drink – was out of hearing. “It is more important that you hear what we say than it is for them to hear it.”

Gildor shot him a complacent smile. “I could hear from the back,” he said. “Besides, I am not new to the palace and my brother Guilin is already a student here. I thought the other new students and their parents should follow the tour more closely than I.”

Glorfindel nodded. Guilin was a little older than him and close friends with Finarfin's son, Finrod. He looked at Gildor's handsome, kindly face and smoothed, fashionable clothes and thought that Gildor would probably be a close friend of Finrod's very soon. He himself was not that close to Finrod. Although they were on polite speaking terms, Glorfindel had never felt comfortable about the other elfling. He found it difficult to accept that Finrod, in being a member of Finwe's household, might know his father, Inglor, better than he did, and might look on him with pity.

“I expect you shall live at home and come here for classes like Guilin, then,” Glorfindel said to Gildor.

“Aye.”

Glorfindel looked at the students scattered about the garden with their parents: eating, drinking, making friends, chattering and laughing excitedly. He looked back at Gildor and blinked when he caught Gildor's gaze. The other elfling had been looking at him. Gildor smiled awkwardly and lowered his eyes. Glorfindel scanned the elfling's bent head for a few moments, then smiled and sat down beside him.

They sat there in silence for a while. Then Glorfindel asked, “Are you not hungry for lunch?”

“My brother is taking me to lunch,” Gildor replied, looking back at him. “I am waiting for him to collect me.”

“Oh. So you will be leaving the tour early?”

“Aye. That is well, is it not?” Gildor's brow knitted.

“Of course.”

There was another silence. Then Gildor said, “Why do you live in Tirion?”

Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. “This is where I grew up,” he said.

“Oh. I meant no offence. I thought that you, as a member of King Ingwe's household, would have lived in his kingdom,” Gildor said.

“I am not offended. I am just surprised. My father lives in Tirion and my mother is Noldorin,” Glorfindel explained.

Gildor nodded, looking interested. “I suppose that makes sense. Do you live at home and come here to classes?”

“Nay. I live in the boarding house.”

Gildor's brow knitted again. “You do not live with your parents?”

“Nay.”

“Oh.” Gildor looked awkward and said no more. Glorfindel scanned the elfling's expression, then, feeling awkward himself and sorry for having discomforted the other elfling, decided to share a little of himself with Gildor.

“My parents separated when I was small,” he said. “My mother is unwell and now lives in Ingwe's palace, and I do not see my father. That is why I live in the boarding house.”

“Oh.” Gildor swallowed and looked more awkward. Glorfindel regretted his words. But then, Gildor said, “You are welcome to stay at my family's house whenever you wish.”

Glorfindel stared at him. Then he smiled. “Thank you.”

Three months later, two weeks into the new school term, he made his first move on Gildor. Gildor fell gloriously, so gloriously that Glorfindel, in spite of his success, was horrified. For he had forgotten something in the seduction that Penlod had shown him.

He had seduced someone who knew nothing of separation. He had seduced someone who would genuinely fall for him.

“I do not engage in casual affairs,” Gildor told him when they renewed their affair in Imladris in the Third Age of the Sun. “I only lie with you. I hate your other lovers.” Then, when Gildor heard of Glorfindel's intention to adopt and later, to marry Lindir, he commented, late in the morning after their last time together, “I hate Lindir, you know, and the fact that you are getting married. I thought you should know before you make the mistake of inviting me to the wedding ceremony.”

Glorfindel had had no response for that so he said nothing. Now, as he sat in the orphanage and prompted Estel to recall his studies at Gil-galad's court, as he considered Iestir's handsome face and body, and reflected on the fact that Iestir would probably treat a casual affair like Penlod would, he also recalled Gildor's expression of hatred towards his other lovers. If he had his marriage to Lindir dissolved, would it be wise to seduce Iestir? Or Estel, for that matter? He glanced Estel over briefly as he watched the diminutive elf rise from his armchair and walk over to the shelves to take out some of his court memorabilia. Was Estel even inclined towards his own sex? The elf lived in an all-male environment. Perhaps he already had a lover. Perhaps not. Perhaps he was one of those celibate elves who had married themselves to their work.

Estel caught his gaze. Glorfindel blinked on seeing the elf's eager smile – so like Lindir's – and smiled back, mentally slapping himself as he did so. What was he thinking? He was not a bachelor. Not yet. It was not yet time to think about chasing new lovers or renewing old attachments. He rose and walked over to stand beside Estel.

“I am sorry, but I missed your last sentence,” he said apologetically to the former favourite student of Elrond. “Could you repeat what you said?”

“Of course.” 

Chapter 46

Before Halmir's death, before his breakdown and confinement, there had been other lovers aside from Sauron. That morning, after breakfast, Eönwë asked him to recount how he had come to meet the first of them. Lindir immediately regretted having revealed – however briefly – the existence of other lovers to the court in earlier interviews. But he obliged. What did he have left to lose?

The new apprentice was from Harad. Lindir, despite having trained a number of human apprentices over the years since the old caretaker's passing, had never seen one from that particular region and found it hard to keep his eyes off the young man's burnished skin colour.

It was dark, darker than anything he had ever seen before... and Lindir could not help wondering at its smoothness, its evenness, and its beauty. He could not help desiring to touch it and stroke the muscles that lay just beneath the surface.

His attention did not go unnoticed. After a few days of teaching the boy – for that was Lindir kept on mentally calling him – he found their roles suddenly reversed.

They had alone in the storage room beneath the wards and central laboratory, sorting through the yellow limbs that lay upon the cold tables and preparing some of them for longer term storage in shelf bottles. Lindir had gone away from the tables for a few minutes to place some of the newly filled bottles onto the shelves of one of the aisles. When he emerged, he looked at the table where he had left the boy working, mouth open to speak words of encouragement and praise, and on seeing the boy, halted and stared dumbly at him.

The youth was observing him intently from the side of the clear table immediately across from the aisle where Lindir had been working on a ladder the past few minutes. He looked as if he had been standing there for some time for he was leaning back against the tabletop. Lindir looked at the other's right hand, which lay across his crotch, the fingers rubbing slowly against the growing bulge.

Lindir did not know what to say. Above them, in the laboratories, the only trouble with masturbation was actually getting the elves to milk themselves. This situation... in _this_ situation, Lindir had no idea of what he was supposed to do. All he knew was that he felt frightened. Was he supposed to confront him? He was rather sure that he was in no physical danger from the boy if he chastised him. But even so... he had heard tales of the human caretakers making sexual use of the test subjects...

He turned and hurried for the stairs. At the top, in the central laboratory, he listened for sounds of pursuit. There were none. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, feeling calmer, he opened them and headed out to the wards to find himself some other task to take him until the end of his shift.

Four shifts passed and though the incident still troubled him, Lindir could not bring himself to raise the subject in discussion with the boy or with any of the other three caretakers.

So when Sauron visited him in the wards at the end of the fourth shift and noticed his distress, Lindir, though he was concerned about Sauron dealing out too harsh a punishment on the boy, took the Maia to the storage room where they might be alone, and expressed his concern to the Maia. He also reiterated his concern about the human caretakers' alleged sexual abuse of the test subjects.

“You were frightened?” Sauron asked after he had heard Lindir's tale in full.

Lindir nodded from where he stood leaning against the same table from which the boy had so shaken him.

“Are you, perhaps, worried that the humans might see you as they do the test subjects and assault you as they do them?”

“Aye.”

Sauron was silent a moment. Then he said, “Lindir, the humans know that they are not to approach you without your permission. They know the difference between test subjects and senior caretakers. If the man from Harad approaches you again and you do not desire his advances, reject him.” Here, Sauron raised his right hand and stroked the gloved fingers against the side of Lindir's head. “But if you do find your mind changed, go to him.”

Lindir frowned. “Why would I desire another? I have you.”

“Then why have your eyes been following him?” Sauron asked. Lindir's eyes widened. Had Sauron been watching him? The hand lifted to caress the side of his head again. “Lust is different from love, Lindir.”

“I know that,” Lindir said, flushing.

“Then you also know that lust is unloyal, irrational, all-promising, all-consuming, blissful, cruel, and all too fleeting.” The gloved hand slid down to Lindir's chest and pushed Lindir firmly backwards. Lindir obediently lay back down onto the table.

“Stay there,” Sauron told him. “Let me teach you something about your body.”

Lindir flushed harder. He clenched his buttocks slightly as he felt a hopeful ripple of pleasure at his crotch, which grew more intense when Sauron stroked the top of his left thigh before turning away. On raising himself onto his elbows to observe Sauron's movement, he saw the Maia disappear into the aisles of preserved organs.

He suddenly heard a loud clanging noise and he looked towards the stairwell and saw that the trapdoor that connected the storage room to the central laboratory had snapped shut. Lindir felt his erection swell; was Sauron going to make love to him here, then?

Sauron reemerged from the aisles a few minutes later, two large jars in his hands. Lindir looked at the misshapen fleshy contents, not immediately recognising them. It was only when Sauron drew between Lindir's thighs and set the jars down on the table right beside Lindir's head that Lindir suddenly registered that they each contained a specimen of rather large male genitalia. He flinched back.

“Hush.” Sauron's voice drew his attention back to the Maia, who was standing over him and removing his helmet and gloves. After laying them aside, he placed his hands on Lindir's thighs and proceeded to firmly massage the tense limbs, pushing up Lindir's robe as he moved up the elf's legs. As Lindir began to relax, the Maia smiled down at him. “Good. Now roll over and bend over the table.”

Lindir did and tensed again when he saw, in the corner of his eye, Sauron take up one of the jars and remove the motionless contents. Oh Valar! Sauron was really going to make him... He flushed and then flushed harder when he felt his erection rise further and touch the table edge.

Something warm and wet and swollen brushed the back of his thigh. That did not feel like... Lindir squirmed when he felt it brush against his entrance. He wanted to look around. What was Sauron pressing against him? He gasped when Sauron pushed his head back down to the table.

“Ah-ah, no looking, little one.”

Lindir did so, his ears burning with embarrassment and mortification. Was Sauron touching him with the cadaver's penis or with his own? Why was the organ touching him so warm and full? His body trembled when he felt the head of the penis kiss the puckered entrance of his anus.

“Bear down on it for me, Lindir.”

“What is it?” Lindir insisted. He yelped when, in response, Sauron pushed the thing further into him, breaching his entrance.

“Bear down or you will hurt yourself,” Sauron said quietly, but firmly. Beneath the table edge, one of the Maia's hands suddenly wrapped around his erection and scrotum and began to fondle them and to roll his balls. Lindir trembled and obediently pressed down on the intrusion, allowing for Sauron to press it a little further into him.

Sauron praised him again and Lindir, feeling his body slacken under Sauron's ministrations to his own hardness, felt the erection inside him push into him until he felt his body stretching to capacity to accommodate it. His eyes widened then as he realised that this was not the size of erection that he was normally used to with Sauron. And oh by the Valar... he whimpered as he felt it start to slowly thrust in and out of him. It felt good. In fact, it felt so good that his own dripping erection hardly noticed when Sauron stopped massaging his crotch.

He did notice, however, when Sauron pinched the base of his erection, mere moments mere Lindir felt hot seed spurt out of the thing buried in him. His body shivered with frustration and he felt almost angry when the thing slid out of him. He turned around, but Sauron was paying him no attention. Lindir watched the Maia milking the last of the seed from the softening genitals. Then, resentfully, he sat on the edge of the table and reached down to take hold of his own erection.

He had no sooner done so than Sauron's hand reached down and covered his hands. “Stop. I am not finished playing with you yet.”

Lindir's gaze slid towards the other jar as he removed his hands from his complaining erection. “Do you intend to have me take that one as well?” he asked, looking back at Sauron. He watched the Maia place the softened genitalia back into the jar from which they had come and close the lid and reach for the other jar.

Sauron did not reply to his question verbally. Lindir did not much care either. He knew what the response would be and despite the petulant tone in his voice, he admittedly felt rather aroused at the thought of it. He watched the Maia take out the new set of genitals and stared when he saw the genitals, as soon as they were resting in Sauron's hands, flush with blood and begin to swell. The penis began to rise.

Sauron turned the genitals then so that the end of the rising erection was facing Lindir's face. Lindir looked at the mushroom shaped cap and the narrow entrance to the urethra. He looked at Sauron hesitantly.

“It is quite warm,” Sauron said.

Lindir looked back at the erection and swallowed. Then he leaned his head forward and experimentally touched the reddening skin with his lips. On finding it warm indeed, he licked it, then took it into his mouth.

“Good boy,” Sauron said softly. Encouraged both by the words and by the fact that the penis was indeed hardening in response to his touch, Lindir began to move up and down on the length, taking it in as far as he could. He lifted a hand after a few turns to massage the attached scrotum. Shortly afterwards, he felt the genitals shudder and then ejaculate sputter out into his mouth. He choked, swallowed and removed his mouth from the intrusion, then coughed again.

Sauron put the genitals away, then, smiling, turned back to him and bent his head to kiss him. Then, to Lindir's delight, the Maia knelt down and began kissing the insides of his thighs. Lindir lay back down against the table and watched Sauron follow to resume gently caressing and licking and kissing a trail up to Lindir's erection.

Afterwards, as Sauron was pulling down Lindir's robe, Lindir asked him, “What were you trying to teach me about my body? Were you trying to show me that I can enjoy a stranger's body? Should I sleep with the boy from Harad?”

Sauron looked at him. His eyes gleamed with laughter. “Good boy.”

~*~

“I think all of those servants of Barad-dur who lay with me were chosen by Sauron,” Lindir said when he had finished recalling his tale to Eönwë and before the Maia could make a snide comment. “Everyone feared Sauron and it was well known that I was on good speaking terms with him – some of the caretakers would come to me for advice in how to address him or whether to address him at all. Added to that was the fact that most of the servants were caretakers who had learned from me.”

“Who did the seducing? You or they?”

“They. Always.” Lindir stared blandly back at Eönwë's doubtful look. “It is not in my nature to seduce others. I also saw enough of my lover Sauron's cruelties to fear him as well – enough to know that a casual affair, even were I so inclined, would be a fool's errand. As I illustrated in my recount, I consulted him about the first lover before we even touched hands. I did the same with the other lovers.”

“You waited and asked Sauron for permission to have an affair with them?”

“Nay, I asked if he wished for me to lie with the other party. I would not call any of them affairs.” Lindir stiffened when he saw, in the periphery of his vision, Elrond enter the room and return to his chair by the bed.

“You were following orders, then?”

“Aye. I did as I was told.”

“You never resisted?”

“Nay. The other party was always – for the most part...” Lindir paused and searched his mind for the correct word.

“Gentle?” Eönwë proposed, ever fixated on the physical act.

“Nay, not always gentle,” Lindir corrected. “The other party was always – for the most part – mindful of the fact that they were under Sauron's instruction.”

“So some of them were rough with you?”

Lindir's eyes narrowed. There was no call for that type of question! “Enough to leave marks, which you have seen and felt on your investigation of those parts of my body.” He folded his arms.

“What did Glorfindel say when he saw... and _felt_ those marks?”

“That is irrelevant,” Lindir bit back.

Eönwë smiled coldly. “Just between you and I. Or was he so distracted by lust when he took you the first few times that he paid your scars no notice?”

It was an observation that Lindir had made to himself before, but it still hurt. Lindir looked away. A sharp reminder that Glorfindel had not cared about anything about him except that he had had a passable body and the right receptacle for his libido at the time.

“When did Glorfindel notice those scars?” Eönwë was reading his thoughts – knew exactly how much he was hurting him. Lindir wondered how Eönwë could stand to be the deliverer of so much ill will and hurt.

Glorfindel had never asked him about the scars – scars from lovers, scars from Sauron's experiments on him, scars from childbirth. Sometimes, in bed or in the bath, Lindir had felt Glorfindel trace some of the marks with his fingertips, but they had never discussed them. Glorfindel had always embraced him gently after such caresses, though. So perhaps those touches had been Glorfindel's way of asking him about them.

Ilúvatar, Lindir missed him. He missed those embraces. He missed that elf who had – incredibly, amazingly, wonderously – placed such unquestioning trust in him.

“Trust? Or recklessness? Or a determination to raise his own children and have them know him – however he might have been tricked into siring them?”

Lindir looked back at Eönwë who returned his gaze steadily and without expression. After a moment, Lindir turned his head to look at Elrond and saw that Elrond was sitting with his back to both of them and studying the papers that he had been studying when Lindir had first woken that morning. He swallowed and looked back down at the floor.

Who could tell what Glorfindel felt about him? Only Glorfindel could tell. But where was Glorfindel? He still had not asked Elrond about him. Eönwë had not mentioned his current whereabouts.

“Glorfindel left Mount Taniquetil the same day on which you last saw him,” Eönwë supplied. Lindir looked at him blankly, unsure of how to take the statement. Had Glorfindel returned to Tirion? Why? Had he found himself unable to stand his family any longer? Had he left to attend to other business? Had Glorfindel separated from him? Had his fears that Glorfindel would utterly separate from him already transpired?

“Did... did he indicate why he left?” Lindir asked.

“He left no note.”

Lindir swallowed again and looked back once more at Elrond who was still sitting with his back to them and sifting through his paperwork. Was Elrond listening to his conversation with Eönwë? If so, did Elrond think that Eönwë was telling the truth?

Eönwë interceded his trail of thoughts. “If he thought it was a lie, then he would say so.” He suddenly rose. “I will see you later.” Then he melted into the still air. Lindir regarded Elrond's back for a few moments more, then pursed his lips and looked away.

Wherever Glorfindel was, whatever Glorfindel's reasons for leaving the trial, only Glorfindel knew how Glorfindel felt about him.

 _And only I know how I feel about Glorfindel,_ he followed on in his thoughts. _But with Sauron, with Morgoth, with this child inside of me and Morgoth's three children, I do not know if I should think about Glorfindel. I do not know what to think anymore._

~*~

The announcement that one of the children had fallen and was bleeding called Estel away unexpectedly. Uninvited, Glorfindel followed the elf to the scene of the accident, offered his handkerchief to the injured half-elfling as a temporary head bandage, and then followed Estel, the half-elfling, and a few of the half-elfling's companions up the stairs to the healing rooms.

There was not really enough room for him inside the patient room into which Estel ushered the children so Glorfindel took the opportunity to look around the other rooms.

It was so silent and dark in the other rooms that he had mistakenly thought that they were all deserted. So he was startled and extremely flustered when he pushed open an ajar door and came face-to-face with the elfling who had borrowed his and Iestir's table salt at breakfast and who had called Iestir mother. The elfling was completely naked and sitting on a towel on the side of a bed, his arms – covered in puncture marks – folded around his middle.

“Oh goodness, I am sorry,” Glorfindel immediately apologised. And then he noticed that the elfling was not looking at him in fright or even in surprise. Instead, the elfling's expression was staring at him with a decidedly disinterested expression. “What are you doing here?” Glorfindel ventured then.

In response, the elfling listlessly raised his right arm and Glorfindel saw in the dim light that there was a thin tube attached to a puncture mark on the boy's forearm. The other end of the tube was attached to a bag of transparent fluid that was hanging from what looked like a modified lamp sconce on the wall above the bed.

“Oh,” was all Glorfindel could think to say. He turned to leave, but then as a thought struck him, he looked back at the elfling and asked, “Do you treat yourself, then?”

The elfling shook his head wearily.

“Why are you naked?”

The elfling shrugged.

“Can you speak?”

The elfling's brow rose. Then the boy sighed irritably. “Of course,” he said in a sour tone. “Number Fourteen is treating me. He is in the store room with Halmir.”

Glorfindel wondered who or what was Number Fourteen. “Where is the store room?”

The elfling raised his other arm – the left one – and pointed at a door on the other side of the room. “Through there.”

Glorfindel nodded and, with a last, mystified look at the nude boy, made his way over to the door and knocked.

“Enter,” called a voice. Glorfindel entered and found himself in a wide and pleasantly brightly-lit room. The shelves that covered every inch of the walls were full of healing herbs, equipment, and – more strange to Glorfindel's eyes – jars of preserved organs.

On the other side of the room were two elves. The one who had called him was a short elf with odd silver streaks in his coarse black hair. As Glorfindel neared him and observed the tightly constricted pupils in the middle of the elf's grey eyes, large ears, wide nostrils, and wary expression he realised that the elf could not see him very well and was in fact relying on his ears and nose to locate and identify him.

The other elf was Halmir. The elf was leaning against one of the shelves, stirring the contents of a drinking cup with a spoon. When he saw him, he smiled and reached out to his companion to rest a reassuring hand on his arm. “Hello Glorfindel. What do you want?”

“I accompanied Estel here with a boy with a head injury,” Glorfindel explained. “I took a look around and walked in on Iestir's son in the next room. May I enquire after his treatment? Iestir mentioned something to do with keeping the parasite in an immature state within him.”

“Aye, that is exactly what we are doing with his parasite,” Halmir said, dropping his hand from the arm of the half-elf to take the spoon out of the cup and put it down on the edge of one of the shelves. “He comes here after breakfast every day to be assessed and treated.”

“What type of assessment?”

“Vital signs – breathing, temperature, those sorts of signs. We also change his night pad to a day pad and check it for blood.”

“Pad?”

“He is bleeding,” Halmir said. He bent his head to his drink and swallowed some of the liquid. Beside him, the half-elf stirred.

“Bleeding?”

Beside Halmir, who was taking another gulp of his drink, the half-elf stirred. “He bleeds constantly from his bottom,” he said. His accent, so heavily imbued with the Black Speech, sent a cold shiver up Glorfindel's spine. Now this was certainly a child of Barad-dur. “We do not know yet why. We are monitoring it.”

“For how long has he had to be assessed daily?”

Halmir answered him. “Since Faramir, Number Fourteen's father,” and here Halmir nodded at the black-haired half-elf, “completed the operation six summers ago. Faramir trained a few of his sons to be able to help him with his investigations into the parasite's lifecycle and sex change reversal techniques and they are continuing the work in his absence.”

“Do you help with the experiments?” Glorfindel asked, looking at Halmir.

Halmir's eyes widened slightly, then the elf smiled broadly and shook his head. “Nay, I am only here to take my medicine,” he said, and he raised his cup indicatively. “This aids my slumber. When I finish it, I will retire for the rest of the day and tonight.” When he saw Glorfindel's brow knit, he explained, “I have found it hard to rest since I entered thraldom.”

“What happens when you do not drink it?”

“Then reality blurs into my dreams, my spirit remembers old wounds of the flesh, and I live a waking nightmare,” Halmir said. “It is similar to the vivid dreams and long remembered wounds of warriors after returning from war.” He raised his cup to his lips to drain the last of its contents. When he had finished, he held out the cup to Faramir's son. “Thank you. And now, I shall retire to my rooms.”

“Where are your rooms?” Glorfindel asked hurriedly. Halmir was one of the few elves who he did know in the orphanage and he did not wish to lose sight of the elf so soon.

Halmir smiled at him; he looked for a few moments almost affectionate. “Twelfth floor. It is the only floor with wooden floors, walls, and ceilings – I had my sons cover the stone with mallorn wood; I do not mind the stone walls now, but they do not touch the heart, do they?”

“Nay, they do not,” Glorfindel said, nodding. “Rest well.”

“Thank you. I shall.” And Halmir turned away and disappeared through the door that led back to the boy on the bed.

Glorfindel looked back at Number Fourteen. The half-elf raised his brows at him. Then he suddenly smiled faintly, blinked his strange half-blind eyes, and said, “Have you ever seen a parasite?”

“Um... nay.”

“Not even Lindir's? Or those of your children?”

“Er... nay.” Glorfindel frowned. “I saw some of their remains after they were removed, but they were in pieces... is that what you mean?”

“Oh nay.” The half-elf shook his head. “I mean the tentacles...” He raised a hand and indicated a distance of a couple of inches between the thumb and middle finger. He observed Glorfindel's confused expression, then smiled and shook his head again. “Do not worry. Come, help me to change the boy's pad and then I will show you what I mean.”

~*~

Lindir observed Elrond read for a while after Eönwë had left. He recognised the paperwork – it was the same that Elrond had brought with him to Ingwë's halls – anatomical notes about his body and the bodies of his children which Elrond had sterilised – notes about other former thralls, most of them not test subjects like himself.

“Elrond,” he ventured suddenly.

“Aye?” Elrond turned his head to look at him. Lindir saw him glance at the chair which Eönwë had vacated. “What is it?”

“What do you know of thralls?” Lindir asked.

A furrow appeared in Elrond's brow. “What do you mean?”

“I know that recently, since your involvement in the trials, thralls have become your work, but what about before then?”

“Lindir, I have known former thralls my entire life,” Elrond said, looking puzzled.

That was obvious. Maedhros, one of those Princes of Finwë's House who had kidnapped Elrond and Elros when the brothers had been an elflings was a renown thrall. Lindir doubted, however, that Maedhros had shared his experiences as a prize thrall of Morgoth's with Elrond. He wondered how to phrase himself for a few moments. Then he ventured, “Did you know other test subjects of Sauron before my children and I?”

“I knew former thralls, but not subjects of his experiments. Former test subjects very, _very_ rarely escape thraldom.”

“What sort of thralls did you know before you met me, then?”

“What do you mean by 'sort'?”

“Were they miners? Jewel smiths? Interpreters?”

“Oh. Most of them had been set to work in mines. In Lindon, most of these thralls had risen to fame and fortune through deeds in the War of Wrath, which was why they had decided to remain on Middle-earth. It was not until I came to Imladris that I met elvish miners fresh from thraldom – elves who had come to Imladris for the sole reason of seeking asylum and healing.”

“Were you close friends with any of them?”

“Not until recently,” Elrond said. “I admit that until recently I have always regarded thralls with a significant degree of unease. Unfortunately, if a thrall desires to do ill, they are all too well equipped with the networks and skills to cause great harm, and as lord of Imladris, I must say that every time I admitted a former thrall, I was frightened.” He was silent for a while, then he stirred and continued, “The two chief reasons why I was so adamant in my rejection of your appeals for residency in Imladris were firstly, you were a strange type of thrall to my advisors – your inheritable transformation was plainly the work of a Maia or Maiar. Secondly, your past movements in Eregion were linked to Sauron. We knew that you had had contact with Sauron and although at the time there was still no definite proof that the Necromancer was Sauron, your body and your history in Eregion added evidence to the case.”

“Why did you back down and accept my appeal after I became pregnant with Gloredhel? Glorfindel said he spoke to you...”

“Aye, we did speak together. We agreed that in return for residency, Glorfindel would restrict your movements around the realm and report back to me on yours and your children's movements and any unusual behaviour.”

Lindir's brow rose. Glorfindel had never told him of these conditions of his residency. “How often and for how long did he have to report back to you?”

“Initially the reports were made daily, then we agreed to stagger them to every few days, then once a week, then every month, and finally – once a year.” Elrond smiled and nodded at Lindir's astonished expression. “It is true. He completed an annual report on you until the summer we learned of Sauron's defeat by dear Frodo and Sam.” He suddenly looked back at his papers and flicked through a number of them and then pulled out a set of notes written in Glorfindel's hand. “This is a sample of his notes regarding your movements.” He held them out.

Lindir took them and glanced over the pages. The entries were short and the writing looked rushed and irritated. He flicked through the pages:

_Small vomit this morning related to pregnancy. Unable to eat morning tea. Retired back to bedroom. Sons kept him company. Slept most of afternoon and night. Midnight_

_Gloredhel born – no issues – see birth notes. Elrond reported large anal tear and operated immediately. Lindir slept remainder of day and night in healing rooms. Midnight_

_Elrond operated this morning to remove parasite from Lindir's body. Noon_

_Lindir notified of new pregnancy and failed operation. Subdued this afternoon so saw privately to discuss and was apologised to by Lindir for pregnancy??? Reassured Lindir. Arranged for family to eat afternoon tea together and play games. Lindir appeared to settle afterwards. Midnight_

_Visited barracks with eldest son despite being advised to the contrary. Lindir stated wished to report Gloredhel's first word, which was “Papa”. Reassured and had escorted back to house. Post-supper_

“I do not know what to say,” he said. He handed the pages back to Elrond. “I know now, though, what he was doing when I could not find him at supper or at midnight. Where were these notes kept hidden?”

“I kept them locked away in my study,” Elrond said. “Few of my advisors knew about them and only Glorfindel, Erestor, and I had access to them.”

Lindir's brow knitted at the mention of Erestor's name. “Did Erestor also reject my appeal for asylum and residency?”

“He abstained from the vote.”

“Oh.”

“Aye, he stated that he felt that he could not view your case objectively due to your past association.”

“Oh.” Lindir fell silent. He now regretted that he had not spent more time with Erestor in Imladris. He had let Erestor teach his children, but not attempted to reunite with the scholar on a personal level. They had not reminisced even once about their shared history in Eregion. “I should have spoken more with Erestor in Imladris.”

“It is interesting that you should say that; he said the same thing to me regarding you before I left Tirion to venture here.”

~*~

After excusing himself from the healing rooms, Glorfindel returned to the stables. Asfaloth had woken and lovingly greeted him with wet shoves to his throat and face. Glorfindel had the stable attendant bring him brushes and set about grooming his old friend.

As he did, he thought back to what Number Fourteen, the healer, son of Faramir, had shown him.

_“This should interest you,” Number Fourteen said. He took a folded towel from a nearby stand and handed it to the boy. “Little one, sit on this clean one and let me take the soiled towel on which you are sitting now.”_

_The boy silently did as instructed and Number Fourteen took up the towel. Glorfindel saw then that there was a wide patch of blood on it which had previously been covered by the boy's bottom. Then, as Number Fourteen drew closer and cupped his hands underneath the stain so that that part of the towel was the focus, Glorfindel saw that there were many small globules of transparent gelatinous masses on top of the stain – some nine or ten or so – no bigger than the fingernail of his thumb. He observed this to Number Fourteen and then, on Number Fourteen's prompting, he looked harder and noticed that the jelly-like shapeless forms were moving. Slowly, but undeniably moving across the surface of the towel._

_“These are parts of the parasite?” he guessed, looking at Number Fourteen. The half-elf nodded._

_“One form of its larvae. These are in fact identical copies of the parasite inside this patient. As a result of halting its maturation and sexual reproduction, the parasite has begun to produce identical copies of itself – asexual reproduction. It is another complication that we must overcome in our experiments.”_

_“Why would Sauron wish for the parasites to be able to reproduce asexually?”_

_“We think that such a trait would have been desirable to Sauron because in having multiple copies of a certain type of parasite, Sauron could test the same parasite on many test subjects at the same time.” Number Fourteen put the soiled towel back down on the bed. “These larvae are harmless; they will die in a few hours without a new host. Now. Come with me back to the storeroom. I will show you what I meant by tentacles.”_

_Glorfindel followed him back into the room in which he had first met him and Halmir. Number Fourteen went over to a wall slightly removed from the others and on nearing, Glorfindel saw that the motionless contents of the jars that crowded the shelves on the wall were strange to his eyes. Drowned in transparent liquid they looked like octupi, yet not. They were strange colours without eyes or mouths. Their many tentacles crowded the bulbous centre so numerously as to render some of the bulbous bodies almost completely masked by the masses of arms._

_Number Fourteen picked up one of the jars. He had no sooner started to lift it than the creature within stirred violently to life and thrash against the walls of the jar, against the half-elf's shielded hands. Glorfindel stared. “Oh Iluvatar!” he uttered under his breath, shocked. “It is alive?”_

_“Aye, these are all alive,” Number Fourteen said. He traced the shifting legs within the jar. “These are the tentacles – they extend out of the host's anus when the parasite is looking to mate or leave its host. The latter event usually leads to the death of both parasite and host due to tissue rupture and blood loss.”_

_“That boy in the other room.”_

_“Aye?”_

_“His blood loss – is his parasite trying to leave him?”_

_“Aye. It is normal for a parasite to mature in response to a patient's pubescent changes and although we are blocking that response to a degree, it is not a complete block.”_

In the stable, Glorfindel replaced Asfaloth's brush with his hand and stroked the smooth silken white pelt with his palm. There was so much he did not know about the parasites. It was an area of Lindir's history that he had left to Elrond to stamp out without fully investigating – probably rightly for Lindir's safety. But he regretted not having more interest in it. That neither Lindir nor Lindir's sons could now have children of their own, and that Linden's ability to mother children was unknown was as far as his knowledge had extended. He should know more than that. He really should.

Before he had left, Number Fourteen had told him that he was happy to answer any of Glorfindel's questions. Glorfindel decided as he scratched the nook behind Asfaloth's ears, that he would take the half-elf up on that offer.

Chapter 47

The sun set and with the shrouding of Arien came the end of Elrond's shift and the start of Faramir's. Lindir stared at the elf when Faramir first entered, not only because of the fact that it was Faramir, but because Faramir, unlike every resurrected elf that he had ever seen, still bore the scars of wounds that he had suffered during his first life.

There was a strange moment when Faramir saw Elrond. The former thrall's smile – meant for Lindir – faded completely and likewise, when Elrond saw the elf who was to replace his station at night, the half-elf's face darkened.

“Faramir,” Elrond spoke first as he rose from his seat. “What do you do here?”

“I thought they told you. I am to look after Lindir at night,” Faramir responded. He glanced at and flashed a quick, bright smile at Lindir, then looked back at Elrond who looked tense. “Are you going to handover today's events as they concern this patient to me?”

“Certainly,” Elrond said, bending down to the bed to retrieve the papers that he had spread out across its coverlets. “Let me present it to you outside in the corridor.” He piled them together and straightened. “Also, Faramir, I would speak to you in private at dawn tomorrow, if that is well with you.”

“It is very well,” Faramir replied with a curt, business-like nod.

The two healers disappeared into the corridor for a while and out of Lindir's sight. Lindir did not bother to attempt to listen in on their words as they concerned him. If Elrond wished to speak of him out of his earshot, then perhaps it was in his best interests not to listen. And if not, what did it matter in the long horrible scheme of things anyway?

Presently Faramir returned. The elf pulled the drapes over the doorway, then came over to sit down beside Lindir at the table. He smiled broadly at him. “Greetings. It has been a long time since I last saw you.”

Lindir smiled back, feeling slightly awkward. Faramir's familiar manner was both welcome and unnerving; he had forgotten so much of the elf's mannerisms, of the briskness, of the decided stubbornness of the elf. “Indeed.”

“Forgive me my behaviour around Elrond. We met for the first time a few weeks ago and immediately disagreed with each other, but I expect – I hope – that our private conversation tomorrow morning will enable us to declare a truce on the subject of what little care the Ainur have left for us to do for you.” He nodded at the slight swell at Lindir's abdomen. “How is the child?”

“The child is there, alive and heavy,” Lindir said. His brow knitted. “You already seem to know rather a lot about my condition, though this is the first time we have seen each other since Barad-dur. Did Eönwë answer many of your questions, then?”

Faramir smiled. “Oh nay; I asked Eönwë no questions. He has a reputation of answering no questions and speaking with condescesion to the Children so I fossicked through the knowledge banks of my own contacts amongst the Ainur and other thralls.”

“Oh.” Lindir wondered exactly what that meant and exactly how much Faramir knew about his condition. Did Faramir know why Manwë had removed him to his house? He scanned Faramir's face – the uneven skin, the discoloured lines, and cruel lips. “I thought you were resurrected. Why, then, do you bear the scars of your first life?”

“I was,” Faramir said. He seemed untroubled by the question. “I asked for them to heal only the injuries that caused my death. The other scars – they are part of me, they are part of my story. Whether I take on the face of youth or not, those wounds will remain with me and I prefer to bear them on the outside in addition to on the inside.”

“Oh,” was all Lindir could think to say. He had once wondered – fleetingly – one night whilst watching Glorfindel's sleep and admiring the smoothness of the renown splendid and terrible warrior's skin, whether one could, on being resurrected, choose one's body. According to tale – he had never breached the subject with the source – Glorfindel had suffered terrible burns, terrible fractures to his body that had broken it utterly on its descent and impact at the bottom of the chasm, the mountain path atop of which he had fought his last battle.

Sometimes he wondered if Glorfindel still felt those injuries or thought about them. Certainly, Glorfindel never talked about it, and Lindir had never saw or heard Glorfindel refer to it in sleep or when thinking himself alone.

“I base my practice in Estel's orphanage,” Faramir added, interceding Lindir's thoughts of Glorfindel smooth, warm moonlit skin. “I find that my scars and the stories which caused them help me to bond with the children.”

Lindir said nothing. He felt a little irritated – he had been enjoying that thought of Glorfindel's warm body and the memory of lying curled against that heat beneath the sheets in Imladris. He wanted to run his lips over Glorfindel's skin – feel the elf's chest heave in response and hear Glorfindel's breath quicken and become uneven under the caress of his fingertips. He also felt sad. And angry at himself. He was a fool. He was a child. How was it that he had come so far, yet still know so little about what he wanted? About what was right for him? About his heart?

“Before you retire to bed,” Faramir said, interrupting his thoughts again, “I would like to briefly examine your body. Is that well with you?”

Lindir nodded absently. It was the doing nothing to him that terrified him. To be forgotten... to be ignored... to be left alone. He flashed a small smile at Faramir, a wan and pathetic expression, but it was the best that he could manage through the myriad of emotions that was clouding his mind. “I am sorry; my mind is elsewhere. Please do examine me.”

Anything. And please do distract me. The memory of Glorfindel's kisses, of kissing Glorfindel, of the smell of perspiration against freshly laundered sheets, of the heat and wetness of the elf's lingering, tender, soft, passionate, hard kisses, was too painful now. He almost wished that he and Glorfindel had never met.

~*~

Glorfindel stirred when he felt the mattress beneath him shift and the sound of Penlod's footsteps upon the hard floor. He turned his head to watch the white-haired elf stalk across to his bed in the moonlight, the tall elf naked from the waist down. Penlod sat down at the chair before the desk, pulled a piece of parchment and pen out of a drawer, opened a bottle of ink, uncovered the desk lamp, and set about writing furiously, a deep furrow in his brow.

“Is something wrong?” Glorfindel ventured when he saw Penlod reaching to rewet the nib of his pen.

“I had a thought,” Penlod said absently without looking at him. “Go back to sleep.”

“I want to know what you are doing,” Glorfindel said. When Penlod glanced sidelong at him, he added, with deliberate petulance in his tone, “I want to know everything about you.”

“The Penlod that you know will never be the Penlod that I know,” Penlod responded. He looked back at the piece of parchment and continued writing, more slowly this time. “That is how it is – that is how it always will be between you and anyone who you love. You will get used to it.”

“It sounds cold. You sound cold when you speak like that,” Glorfindel told him. “You are like a tower, a tower made of snow.”

Penlod snorted and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “What phallic imagery. I do appreciate such imagination in my bed mates.”

“I am not the only one. You are named cool and lofty and unapproachable by many.”

“Go back to sleep, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel lay back down, but did not return to sleep. He lay there and watched Penlod write, watched the practiced, graceful motions of the elf's arm as the elf wrote whatever he was writing, watched the brown-black marks creep across the piece of parchment.

At the end of the second piece of parchment, he saw Penlod lift his pen slightly from the page and pause there. He decided to interrupt the elf's thoughts again.

“Are you going to come back to bed?”

“Mmm.” Beyond the murmur, Penlod made no other sign to indicate that he had heard the enquiry. Glorfindel sighed and looked up at the ceiling – at the shadows playing across the arched, smooth surface in the moonlight and lamplight.

“It is Fathers' Day next week,” he said then. “Should I do something for my father?”

“Aye, you should,” was Penlod's distracted response.

“He does not see me or send me birthday gifts.”

Penlod stopped writing and turned his head to look back at him. “He does not see you?” When Glorfindel shook his head, the prefect's brow knitted. “Does he not live in this same Citadel?” Glorfindel nodded. “And still, he does not see you?” When Glorfindel nodded again, Penlod regarded him thoughtfully for a while, then said. “Then perhaps you should make a concerted effort to see him next week.”

Glorfindel smiled wanly; the same thought had crossed his own mind. There was silence for a while. Then he ventured, “What are you doing for your father on Fathers' Day?”

“My father is good friends with Rog's father so our families will be heading to Rog's family's country house and celebrating the day there with much food, wine and a hunt. Rog and I talked the cook here into letting us order hunting game from Lord Orome's realm.”

“It sounds like fun.”

“It will be fun. Rog – do you know Rog? He captains a few of the sports teams and coaches some of the junior teams.”

Glorfindel nodded. Rog was another prefect and highly respected on any sporting ground for his strength, athleticism, intelligence, and infectious enthusiasm for whatever task to which he set his mind. “Aye.”

“Then you will know that when Rog is around, everything is fun, and his family is like him. It will be very fun. It will be ridiculous.” Penlod chuckled, then sobered and asked, “And you? What will you do that weekend?”

“Ecthelion – my friend – has asked me to go to his family's beach house at Eldamar.”

“Is he your best friend?”

“Aye. We both came to board at the palace at the same time.”

“You were young when you came here,” Penlod said, looking back at his piece of parchment. He wrote a few more lines, then drew a straight line from where his words ended to the edge of the parchment, indicating that he had finished. He closed the ink bottle, wiped the nib of his pen and put it away. Then he covered the lamp, rose, and came over to Glorfindel's side of the bed. “I remember when I first saw you running around the grounds. I wondered to myself whether you were a younger sibling of one of the resident students.” He sat down on the side of the bed beside Glorfindel's bent legs and smiled at Glorfindel. “You came up to me and asked me for the way to Teacher Rumil's classroom and I saw the paperwork that you were carrying and was so surprised.”

“I was frightened of you,” Glorfindel said, also remembering the exchange. “You were so tall and I had never spoken to a white-haired elf before then. The only reason why I came to you was because of your prefect tunic so I knew that there had to be something helpful about you.”

Penlod snorted. There was a silence. Then he climbed over Glorfindel and lay down on his side of the bed and pulled the coverlets back over his body. Glorfindel looked at the outline of the lean face for a while. He wondered if Penlod wanted to lie with him again that night. Or not. He wondered when Penlod had first wanted him. He wondered how many other lovers Penlod had taken to his bed – taken to this bed. Were they all males or were there females as well?

He shifted across the bed and touched Penlod's arm hesitantly when Penlod did not look at him. Penlod did look at him when he felt the touch, but the elf's gaze was not affectionate. Instead, the intense eyes were closed and distracted – uninterested. The look told Glorfindel all he needed to know. Despite the friendly talk, there was no affection, there was no chance of a deeper relationship. He was an outsider in Penlod's personal life and Penlod wanted to keep it that way. Penlod did not want to share it with him.

“What is it?” Penlod asked.

“I am going back to my rooms,” Glorfindel told him. He had to retreat. He would come back when his heart was a little harder, when he could bear the casual conversation without falling into the trap of thinking that Penlod might feel something deeper for him.

Penlod's brow knitted slightly, but the older elf nodded and Glorfindel crawled from the bed.

~*~

The days slid away. In the orphanage, Glorfindel held true to his oath to Iestir that he would say naught of Sauron's and Lindir's affair or of the parentage of Lindir's eldest three children. During the day, he spent most of his time following around various of Faramir's children and learning of the history, science and theory behind the work that Sauron wrought upon the bodies of his breeder thralls. Faramir's children, all of whom were respectively named after the order of their birth, surprised him with their eagerness to welcome him into their world of painstaking research and teach him all that they could about the condition which afflicted all of the residents of the orphanage. In this way, in their willingness to share all their knowledge with him, they were unlike any research scholars and healers that Glorfindel had ever met and he was amazed and honoured to be allowed to watch them work and to be invited to share his ideas with them.

When he spoke of this to them, Number Twenty-Three and Number Fourteen laughed, their half-blind eyes shining with amusement in the light which they had turned on so that he, Glorfindel, might be able to see their hands at work.

“We are honoured too,” they told him. “And hopeful that in showing you, an elf with such great influence, our work, that we may garner more support and sharp minds and move further and faster forward towards a complete cure.” Then they added, with mirth colouring their strange accented voices, “Of course, we assess you too. We find you most interesting to observe – your accent, your clothes, your mannerisms and processes of thought.”

They spoke a little longer with him, then returned their attention to their work, the examination of the body of a dead creature, recently removed from the body of one of the many elflings resident in the orphanage. As Glorfindel watched them work, he reflected on one aspect of the creature's lifestyle that they had taught him and which nagged at him.

They had told him that should the creature be allowed to mature and remain in an adult elf's body that, when the host body was not pregnant, the creature would need to mate with another adult creature every two to three months and would tear itself loose of its host if a sexual mate was not obtained or if its host did not become pregnant again within that time frame.

It bothered him because Lindir, a very unpregnant Lindir post-Linden's birth, had lived in Imladris for rather more than a few months before Glorfindel had met him. In addition, Lindir had left his sterilisation until a few summers after Glingal's birth. And then of course Laiglas had been mature when Glorfindel had met him. If Lindir's and Laiglas' creatures were anything like the ones shown to him by Faramir's children, then either Lindir and Laiglas had known of a way to suppress that instinct, they had taken another adult creature with them with which to mate their creature, or they had mated their creatures with each other.

Faramir's children had told him of the latter being known to occur amongst those few thralls who managed to escape. Glorfindel's face clouded – he could not deny the clues that pointed towards the third possibility having occurred between Lindir and Laiglas. The pair were so close and Laiglas' hatred of him so intense. He had thought before, whilst brooding over Laiglas' cold and cruel rejection of Glorfindel's each and every attempt to befriend the elf in the past, that Laiglas treated him like a jealous, stilted lover. Now, however, it seemed that there could be more truth in that thought than he had ever thought possible.

Meanwhile, in the clouds above Mount Taniquetil, Lindir continued to wait. He waited for the birth of the so-called son of Kings that grew inside his belly, he waited for the shift changes and the change of his elven healer's face from Elrond to Faramir and vice versa, he waited for Eönwë's interviews and the Maia's predictable, now almost routine mockery of him.

Days turned into weeks. Then one day, at the orphanage, Halmir came to Glorfindel with two letters in his hand. On taking them to his guest room and opening the first, Glorfindel saw that it was a letter from Gloredhel and Lindo. The letter related the pair's travels southwards, almost as far as the orphanage until Lindo's fear that the hatred of former thralls might turn on him forced them to turn away and pursue a new lead: Lindir's parents.

Apparently the news was good: they had found the two elves in Tirion and attended a public performance given by Talagant and a few other minstrels with which Talagant was apparently known to perform with regularly. Although they had not introduced themselves to their grandparents and did not intend to in Lindir's absence, they stated that they thought their grandparents kindly and wondered aloud at Lindir's severance of ties with them.

 _But enough of our adventures,_ the letter then read. _How fare you in the Orphanage? We met Ecthelion recently and he told us that you had ventured where we dared not considering the risk of an unfavourable response to Lindo should they already know of the identity of his sire._

Glorfindel smiled wanly. Truly, he did not know how the orphanage residents would respond to Lindo, but he doubted that the response would be more ill than the response of those who dwelt in Tirion were they to learn of Lindo's parentage.

He opened the next letter, which was dated more recently. This one, he noticed was written and signed by Lindo alone.

_Glorfindel,_

_I received a letter from Linden at dawn today. She asked me to convey the enclosed message to you as neither she nor Elrond knew of your whereabouts._

_Lindo_

Glorfindel looked at the enclosed letter. He blinked on seeing the neat script. It was not Linden's hand, but Elrond's.

Dear Glorfindel,

How fare you? I apologise if you have no wish to hear further of Lindir. However, although you left no address, you left no explicit instruction to not contact you regarding Lindir's condition so I have written the following under the assumption that you still wish to hear of him.

Lindir is not well. Shortly after your departure from Mount Taniquetil, he was interned by Lord Manwë's servants and his name as a witness withdrawn from the trial. In vain, I tried to locate him. Then, yesterday, I was asked to examine him and show what little I knew of the evil parasite that dwells in him to various Maian healers.

Lindir is with child, a child forced onto him by powers beyond my reckoning and which looks unlike any elven fetus that I have ever seen. He is under extreme physical and psychological duress, frighteningly so, and I would that you return to Mount Taniquetil at your earliest convenience to try to see him. I fear from what I can foresee into his future that it may be your last opportunity to do so.

Your friend,

Elrond

And thus, Glorfindel's heart was stirred and he felt the summons back to Mount Taniquetil. He looked with clouded face at the date on Elrond's letter: months had passed since that day; already, it might be too late to see Lindir again. He had tarried too long.

He refolded the letters and tucked them into an inside pocket of his tunic. Then he turned and left his room and went in search of Estel. He had to leave. It was time. It was, possibly, already too late.

Chapter 48

Glorfindel returned to Mount Taniquetil just over a month later, just as summer slipped into autumn in the world beyond the boundary of ever-present spring that encircled the site of the trial. With him came Estel, Halmir and Iestir. The three caretakers of the orphanage, on learning of his intended departure and on sighting Elrond's letter, had decided to follow him and see what they could do to aid both Lindir's condition and the trial.

They did not tarry at Ingwë's halls. Instead, Halmir and Iestir, who had both, after long discussion and planning between themselves over the course of the journey north, decided to lend their aid to the trial by becoming witnesses. After registering their names with the servants of Lord Irmo who waited for such witnesses at the foot of the mountain, all of them were permitted to venture through the portals that would take them to the witness halls that dwelt in the walls of the mountain within walking distance from the summit.

The building and comfortably furnished rooms reminded Glorfindel of the rooms that serviced the trial's audience, that building to which Eönwë had led him, Ingwë, Gloredhel, Glingal and Lindo the previous winter and in which they had waited out the morning until they could venture to their first, and in Glorfindel's case, his last court session to date.

Theirs was a shared apartment. Two bedrooms each containing two single beds extended from a central parlour and attached bathroom. Glorfindel learned over his stay that the bathroom, modest though it was, was one small acknowledgement by their hosts of his heritage; few of the other witness apartments contained their own bathroom.

He was to room with Iestir. The elf gave him little choice otherwise when the former thrall, who was first into the apartment after the butler, trotted into one of the bedrooms with both his and Glorfindel's bags and set them down between the two beds. Halmir and Estel, who had been lagging behind and chattering between themselves about the possible identity of an unrecognised elf that they had passed in the corridor and who had delightedly greeted Estel by name, did not question the decision and instead wandered into the other bedroom, still chattering away.

Glorfindel was not particular bothered by this decision, merely bemused. He was used to being asked, at the very least. He sat on the side of his bed and watched Iestir walk around the room, investigatively opening cupboard doors and table drawers. Then, on hearing Estel's and Halmir's voices suddenly uplift in bright laughter on the other side of the wall, he rose and went to learn the reason for the mirth.

“May I assume from the ruckus that you have worked out the name of that elf?” Glorfindel asked as he entered the room.

“Nay,” Estel said, turning to smile at him. Nearer the window, Halmir snickered. “But we have established that we both recall him so it is likely that he was a resident of the orphanage at some time.”

“We are both now rather worried that we will meet many more elves who recall us, but whom we have ourselves forgotten,” Halmir added. “We have therefore decided that, at least for tonight, we shall dine here and avoid the crowded dining hall. Then, after supper, Iestir and I will venture to the witness interview rooms and start contributing our memories to the court.”

Glorfindel nodded.

“What do you intend to do first?” Halmir asked him then. “Do you know of Elrond's whereabouts?”

“Nay, but my first intention is to locate him,” Glorfindel said. “I have heard that he dwells in this building or nearby. I will leave presently to find him and hear what he has to say regarding Lindir.”

“May I come with you?” Estel ventured. “I understand, however, if you wish to see Elrond alone,” he added quickly when Glorfindel looked at him.

Glorfindel hesitated. Truly, he should take Estel with him. The elf deserved to see Lindir as much, if not more, than him. He had devoted wholeheartedly his life's energy to the assistance of former thralls like Lindir. He knew that Estel desired nothing less than to see Lindir.

But then again, what if Estel learned that Glorfindel's high regard for Lindir was not so high after all and reacted badly to the news? Or worse, what if Estel learned of the parentage of Lindir's eldest three? Glorfindel looked at Iestir, who he noticed had emerged from the other bedroom to stand at the doorway and fleetingly met the other elf's stricken gaze. Then he looked back at Estel. “I would rather see Elrond alone this time. If he is able to take me to see Lindir, then I will summon you to come with us. If not, I will report back to you on my return.”

Estel nodded. He looked curious, but also pleased.

Glorfindel excused himself. As he did so, he beckoned Iestir to follow him back into their shared room. After ushering Gildor's son into the room before him, he followed and shut the door behind them.

“You need to tell Estel the name of the sire of Lindir's children,” Glorfindel said when Iestir turned to look at him. “You need to tell him tonight, before you venture to your witness interview, before I return with Elrond's news, before Estel meets one of the children or worse, ventures to court and learns of the affair there.”

Iestir nodded, his face pale. “I understand. Are you leaving now?” the elf asked.

“For now,” Glorfindel said. “I will return later – how later, I do not know. Farewell and good luck tonight.” Then he inclined his head to the handsome elf and left the room to head off in search of the butler who had disappeared.

His first suspicion had been correct – Elrond's quarters were indeed located in the same witness halls in which they dwelt. However, Elrond himself, the butler told him, was currently out and would be away until sundown. Glorfindel easily persuaded the elf to lead him to the doorstep anyway; coaxing the elf with the thought of preempting another such conversation with Glorfindel later that day.

Once at the doorstep, Glorfindel ignored the butler's statement that Elrond was out and knocked anyway. There was always a possibility that Elrond had returned early. He was pleased to be rewarded then with the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. But then the door opened and he found himself staring at an equally surprised face.

“Glorfindel,” Linden said. “What are you doing here?” She looked tired; grey crescents dwelt beneath her eyes, and she was not clad in a dress as was her habit, but in a faded shirt and breeches. Her hair was tied back and up in a fashion that Glorfindel had grown to associate with Elrond's hairstyle when Elrond was working in the healing rooms.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Glorfindel responded. “Where is Laiglas? Do you still reside in Eönwë's halls?”

“Nay, we left his residence when Lindir was interned by Lord Manwë. I work for Elrond now; I assist him with his work for the trial. I do not know where Laiglas lives; I have not heard from him since we left Eönwë's halls. What of you? I heard that you left Taniquetil.”

“You heard correctly. I travelled south west and met Estel, Lindir's brother. We came with all haste when I received Elrond's letter, the one that you sent to Lindo to forward on to me, and have come in search of him.”

She nodded and stepped back to show him into the parlour. “Elrond is with Lindir currently and will not be back until sundown,” she said as she shut the door behind him and followed him towards the armchairs. She gestured for Glorfindel to sit. “His schedule is the same every day; Lord Manwë employed him to care for Lindir from dawn until dusk.”

Care for him? Glorfindel forgot all about sitting and turned to look at her anxiously. “Care for him? How serious is Lindir's condition?”

Linden's brow knitted. “He is with child,” she said. Then she added, “But you already know that, assuming you read Elrond's letter.”

“I read the letter,” Glorfindel confirmed. “Elrond did not name the sire.”

“You should ask Elrond about the sire.”

Glorfindel's face clouded. He reiterated his initial question. “How serious is Lindir's condition?”

“Not well, from what I have heard,” Linden said. When Glorfindel frowned, she explained, “I am not allowed to see him. All that I know about his current condition, I learned through Elrond.”

“Why are you not allowed to see him?”

“Ask Elrond; he will explain everything to you. Only he and another healer, Faramir, who attends to him from dusk until dawn, are permitted to see him.”

Faramir? There was a source of information that Estel could ply for information. “Elrond said that Lindir's condition is worsening.”

“Elrond says that he foresees that although it is possible that Lindir will make a complete physical recovery after the birth, psychologically, Lindir will continue to deteriorate and will not recover.”

“You sound as if Lindir is turning mad; that cannot be so, surely?”

“I thought that too when Elrond first said those words to me.” Linden sat in one of the chairs and extended a hand indicating for Glorfindel to do likewise. “He is, apparently, greatly changed, a shadow of his former self. His spirit has been greatly sapped by the child growing within him and the circumstances surrounding the begetting of it.”

“How sapped?” Glorfindel asked as he took the chair beside her. “Who is the sire? What were Elrond's words?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Her face clouded. “I think you should wait for Elrond and hear the words from his mouth.”

So the sire was not him. Linden would tell him if he was the father; there would be no reason to refer him to Elrond. “And when will Elrond return?”

“After dusk.”

There was a silence. Then Linden rose. “I have work to attend to,” she said. “Please excuse me.”

“What kind of work?”

“Whilst he cares for Lindir during the day, I help to prepare and am responsible for presenting his evidence at court.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, Glorfindel, but I have too much work and too little time,” she said. She left the room and went into an inner chamber, leaving Glorfindel alone with his thoughts.

As it was now a short time until dusk, Glorfindel waited there until Elrond returned. When he saw the half-elf enter the door, his slim hopes that Linden's words might have been an exaggeration were dashed by the greyness in Elrond's drawn face. Elrond looked impossibly tired and unhappy, frustrated and angered. When he saw Glorfindel, he seemed too fatigued to visibly express any surprise. Indeed, the smile of greeting that attempted to reach his face barely flickered upon his lips.

“Glorfindel,” he said, his voice quiet and resigned. “You have returned.”

“Linden admitted me. I fear I have returned too late,” Glorfindel replied.

“Perhaps,” Elrond said simply. He closed the door behind him and took off his cloak.

“Linden told me that Lindir has changed.”

“He has.” Elrond hung up the cloak on a hook near the door, then came over and took the chair that Linden had vacated. “He is not well and wearied with cares unlike any other patient of my acquaintance. However, I do hold hope that the changes may be accounted solely to the exhaustive task of bearing the child within him.”

“But?” Glorfindel prompted, forcing himself to stick to the flow of the conversation and not draw Elrond just yet onto the subject of the identity of the sire.

“But there are many variables. “His confinement, the recollections induced by the witness interviews, and the uncertain fate that lies before him cause him great distress and fatigue.” Elrond suddenly rose and went over to a bench on which lay a jug of water and some cups.

“I thought that his contributions to the trial had ceased.” Glorfindel watched Elrond pour himself a drink and gulp it down. “You mentioned so in your letter to me.”

Elrond finished his drink and put down the cup, then turned to him. “I did and he did disappear for a time, but recently he has privately resumed his contributions to the trial.” He returned to his seat.

“Privately?”

“By private, I mean he is interviewed alone by Eönwë.”

Glorfindel nodded, his face clouded. In his mind flashed recollections of what he had seen when he had last attended the courthouse – Lindir's other and first lover. Again, his mind returned to the question of the identity of the sire. There was a silence for a while. He wondered if it was wise for him to know the answer. Would the information serve of any use? Or would it cripple him with hotter feelings of betrayal? He ventured hesitantly, “When will I be able to see Lindir?”

“I do not know.”

“Do you think he would be happy to see me?”

“I do. However, the question is not whether he will see you, but whether Lord Manwë will permit you to see him.”

“How do I gain that permission?”

“I do not know,” Elrond said. “I myself did not request permission; I was summoned by Eönwë. I think you should convey your request to Eönwë, but Eönwë, as I am sure you have discovered by now, is as hard as the wind to catch. When he next ventures to interview Lindir for the trial, I will try to speak to him of your request to see Lindir. I suggest, however, that you exercise whatever other connections you have with the Ainur.”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. The only connection that he had with the Ainur beside Elrond and through Estel's contacts, contacts that he would have to leave to Estel to exercise, was through Ingwë, a contact that he had secretly hoped he would not have to go to for help. “How pregnant is Lindir?”

“Early in the third trimester.”

Glorfindel fell silent again. He knew that Elrond was not sharing everything he knew with him and only the barest and most sure of facts. However, he was unsure if it would be wise for him to hear all that Elrond suspected or had overheard. Perhaps that was why Elrond had not yet told him the identity of the child. But the thought of the question ate at him. He opened his mouth and ventured the question.

“Who is the sire of the child?”

Elrond's face gravened. “I had left that matter and the tale of how Faramir and I came to care for Lindir to last. But before I do so I will fetch you a drink from the wine cabinet. You will need it,” he added as he rose once more from his seat.

~*~

When Sauron returned, one of the other caretakers with him, Lindir rose from where he had sat what felt like a whole shift out in front of Halmir's sealed door and stood quietly to the side when Sauron, without looking at him, unlocked the door and entered. Lindir followed the pair into the cell.

It was strange. He had seen other bodies before and been unaffected. To him, they had been just... dead bodies. But Halmir's body, naked, curled there on the floor, drying blood coursing towards the drain from his slashed wrists... For some reason, it made him feel weak and ill. Trembling, suddenly dizzy, he leaned against the cold wall inside the room and kept well out of Sauron's and the other caretaker's way as they moved to check the body for signs of life.

The caretaker lifted the body and carried it away. Sauron disappeared briefly and returned with a bucket of water. As he washed away the blood, Lindir left the room and sat down beside the door outside.

When Sauron had finished, the Maia came out and closed the door. At last, he turned to look at Lindir.

“Do you wish to resume your work as a caretaker?” the Maia asked him.

“I do not know.” In his heart, Lindir felt torn. He wanted nothing more to do with the suffering and death in the laboratories and cells. Yet, also, he wanted to please Sauron, he wanted to be loved back.

“Return to your cell and rest this shift,” Sauron told him. “Then return to work. You will know if you cannot do this work anymore.”

“What will happen to me if I cannot work anymore?” Lindir asked.

“I do not know.”

So. Even Sauron had not decided on a fate for him after this caretaking work. Lindir nodded and rose. He quietly left the laboratory floor and returned to his own cell. There, he cast himself down on his bed. Sleep was long in coming. In his mind, he saw Halmir. That elf who had volunteered to be branded first in the pits of the orc lairs of the Misty Mountains and set a precedent of dignity and courage with which they could proceed as a unit. That charismatic and intelligent elf who had plotted with great success save for Lindir's interference to break them all loose from the chains that held them captive. That shell of an elf who at the last had chosen what some might call a coward's end by ending his own life rather than meeting a torturous end on the sadistic whims of Sauron's chief orcs.

Halmir had acknowledged defeat and Lindir blamed himself for it. He had thwarted the elf's attempts to rise above the resigned acceptance of a test subject's fate and question and combat it.

He did not sleep that break. His next shift he spent distracted, unable to concentrate, and without care. His second shift went the same way. It was only on the third shift when he felt himself finally crack. He retreated to the storage room beneath the central laboratory, sat down on the stairs, and covered his face with his hands as he cried.

He knew then that he could not work in the laboratories anymore. Halmir's death had taken his apathy, had stolen the blindness with which he had regarded the suffering in the cells. He knew that he was working with a maker of monsters, with a dealer in death, hatred, fear, and suffering. But now he could see the evil on his own hands.

Without his minions, without his workers, how much less evil would there be in the world?

Lindir retreated from the laboratories and removed himself back to his own cell. There, in the darkness and silence, he decided to wait for Sauron to find him.

~*~

His sleep disturbed by the memories of his last glimpse of Halmir's body, Lindir stirred and sat up in his bed in Manwë's halls. He looked across to Faramir who was sitting at the table and apparently dozing. Then he looked at the door. The curtains, normally drawn closed, were drawn open and beyond them, Lindir could see some of the passageway.

Intrigued, curious to see if the passageway had shifted at all, or if there was any sign of how Faramir and Elrond came to and from his luxurious prison, he rose and padded over to the door. On looking out, he saw that although the door that led down to the great hall below was still absent, the passageway now continued on past his door.

He ventured out and made his way down the new passageway. Soon, he came to a great archway, which led into a vast circular hall set about with large murals equidistant from each other, strange murals that moved as one looked at them. He walked into the middle of the room and regarded them curiously. They looked like windows, but they did not look out onto the sky. One looked out onto a beautiful field of deep green grass and the reddest of poppies, all overshadowed by the cool shade of glossy cypress trees. In the distance, Lindir could discern a tall wooden house made of the living trees.

Another mural looked over a vast orchard so dense with blossoms that there was scarce anything else to see except for bustling petals and waving stamens and showers of pollen: white, pink, yellow, red, purple…

Yet another looked out across a vast dense forest with trees of all shades, so large and so thick that there was nothing to see except trees upon trees until the Pelori Mountains slashed a barrier between the rolling canopies of green and the blue, blue sky.

Another mural looked straight into the dark – a dark so black that Lindir could not see what lay within it, though he could sense something there. Simbelyne clustered around the edge of the mural, giving the picture the uneasy, quiet feel of a gravesite.

Yet another mural was black, but at the corners, Lindir could see faint movement, too fast or too faded for him to make out. Or were they something else? Ghosts? Spirits?

Another mural showed him a great roaring golden fire covered with roasting, glistening animal carcasses on spits. Around the clearing, a great forest reigned.

Yet another looked onto a garden of small flowers: dainty and delicate miniatures.

Another looked at deer, again in a vast forest.

Another looked over a deep, crystal clear lake and a shore of cool green grass. Lindir could see a shoreline lined with poppies reflected in the water.

Another looked into a labyrinth of fire: blisteringly hot. On the walls, great crystals full of coloured flame hung on golden handles.

Another stared into the wide, wide ocean. In the distance, through the dusky blue, Lindir could see great whalish shapes in the water.

Another was curiously grey. A great mist hung over it, masking whatever view lay beyond, if indeed a view did lie beyond it.

Two more murals sat together on the wall near to the grey one. One looked onto the night sky: as bright and beautiful as the sky above him. A great mist, like to that covering the other mural, covered this mural too.

Lindir bit his lip. Save for the misty murals, each mural reminded him of what he had learned through legends, of the dwellings and interests of each Vala. Perhaps they were windows into each Vala’s world. Perhaps not. Perhaps he should find out. He looked around for the most inviting mural and his sight fell on the gently bobbing heads of the poppies in Lórien. He would try Lórien. Aye, he would try Lórien.

Moments after he reached out to touch the mural, he recoiled, crying out in pain when a great gust of white-hot wind slashed at his fingers before he could touch the waving poppies. He cradled the stinging limb against his chest, his eyes tearing. When he looked down and saw great blisters already forming on his fingertips, he whimpered. Nay, nay, perhaps he should not touch them after all. Perhaps he should simply look and not touch. Or perhaps he should simply return to his room and his bed.

“Oh dear,” a familiar cold voice said behind him. “Did you forget to ask for permission?”

Lindir looked around at Eönwë, who was standing at the archway at the entrance of the hall. He blinked back tears. “Permission?” he asked confusedly.

“To leave, little fool.” Eönwë nodded at the murals. “These doors lead to other realms within Valinor.”

Lindir swallowed and looked back at the murals. “I did not know.”

“You do now.”

“A-aye.” Lindir felt his shoulders fall. He wished he were back under the covers of his bed now and under Faramir's watchful eye. Or maybe Eönwë was simply bothering him for the sake of bothering him and his own location was irrelevant. He cringed when Eönwë moved towards him and, to his alarm, wrapped his arm around his shoulders and drew him close.

“You have a friend named Iestir?” the Maia suddenly asked, bending his head to softly utter the inquiry into his ear.

Iestir? Iestir? Lindir swallowed and nodded. “A-a-aye,” he stammered, shivering in the other’s embrace.

“Lord Namo is with Manwë now, showing us Iestir’s memories,” Eönwë said. “Perhaps you would like to see his memories of Melkor?” He edged Lindir towards the mural beside the starry one and halted a few feet before the mist. “There. Now touch the door.”

“Nay… Nay!” Lindir hissed, cowering when Eönwë took his unhurt hand and stretched it out to the tendrils of mist. He tightly shut his eyes.

But there was no agonising slap of wind this time.

He opened his eyes nervously, then, on finding himself sitting on the window seat of a rather familiar room and looking out at a great mountain range, his eyes widened. “Oh Ilúvatar!”

He was back in Eregion. He was literally back in Eregion. And not only that, he was in Annatar’s rooms. Anxiously, he felt the cushions on the seat with his fingers, he rubbed his unblistered hand on the stone walls around the window. Then he turned around and started on seeing cages on the floor and their snoozing occupants.

He was in Annatar’s wolf room. He stared at their cruel faces, their furry snouts… One of them was awake; his gleaming eyes resting on the closed door that led out into the corridor. He did not look at Lindir, not even when Lindir waved at him.

Lindir hesitated, then went over to the door. Perhaps he could find Annatar or even find himself somewhere in this recollection.

He reached for the door, but he heard a click and saw it swing open before he had even touched the handle. He hurriedly stood back, his face filling with delight when Annatar entered, dragging a great trunk behind him. The Maia was clad in travelling gear; cloaked and all.

“Annatar!” he said, walking over to the other. “Annatar, can you see me?” He reached out to touch him and his eyes widened when Annatar turned around to face him, reached out to close the door, and his arm went … straight through him.

“I suppose not,” he said then, his smile fading slightly when he saw Annatar turn back to the trunk after shutting the door and curiously, bolting it tight. Then Annatar reached for the trunk and unlocked it to draw out a lumpy hessian sack.

Lindir’s smile faded completely then when he saw Annatar undo the top of the sack and let the contents – a hooded, gagged, and tightly bound elf clad in the colours of Gil-galad’s House – slide to the floor beside the cages. A muffled exhalation was heard when the body thudded to the floorboards. At the sight, all of the wolves, who had all woken on Annatar’s entrance, rose to their feet, their eyes fixed intently on the elf. One of them licked his chops.

Annatar leaned down and pulled off the hood. He snorted in clear amusement at the angry eyes that glared back at him from beneath a tangled mess of dark hair, half-torn from their braids. As for Lindir, he stared. It was Iestir. It really was Iestir! But what was Iestir doing in Eregion? When had he arrived? Lindir could not recall ever having seen him in Eregion.

Iestir, a furious look on his face, opened his mouth and began to speak, but to Lindir’s and apparently also Iestir’s bewilderment, no sound came out save for exhalations. Iestir looked confused and suddenly, not so sure of himself. He swallowed and tried to speak again. Again, only silence answered his attempts. He tried one last time, then, suddenly looking frightened, fell silent, 

“Humph.” Annatar’s voice was amused. “You need these to talk, Iestir,” he said, and he reached into the front pocket of his tunic to withdraw what looked like a few bits of sinew. Lindir frowned. Were those…? He looked sharply at Iestir’s throat. “Quite ugly, but so useful, are they not? Vocal cords. Well, they belong to me now.” He put them back in his pocket.

Iestir swallowed.

Annatar then withdrew a letter from his tunic and waved it at Iestir. “You should know better than to bear bad news, even if ordered to do so by your superiors. It will only bring you grief, though I suppose you know that all too well now.” He tossed the letter into the empty fireplace, which suddenly, to Lindir’s fright, burst into a strange, black flame, which rapidly consumed the text.

Iestir suddenly began trying to talk. Although Lindir could not read his lips, Annatar seemed capable of doing so. Lindir supposed, though, that it was no surprise considering Annatar was half-Melkor.

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay,” Annatar said softly, shaking his head and smiling what might have been a kind smile were it not for the smirking gleam in his eyes. “True, the letter is destroyed, but what of the messenger so dear to Gil-galad’s bosom?” He crouched down and reached into the trunk to retrieve, from a much smaller black sack at the side, an iron collar and attached to that, a short chain. He held it up and smiled slyly through the circle at Iestir’s frightened face. “A perfect fit, I think.” Then he leaned over Iestir and fastened the circle around his neck. Iestir spat at him, but Annatar was too fast for him, leaning away in time. He attached the end of the chain to one of the cages. Lindir thought this was odd because although the occupant of the cage looked ferocious, the cage itself did not look all that heavy. All was explained, however, when Sauron returned to the smaller black sack and took out two sets of handcuffs.

He rolled Iestir over onto his front. One set, he attached to Iestir’s right wrist and ankle, bending the elf onto his knees and undoing some of the leather ties as needed. The other he attached to Iestir’s left wrist and ankle so that Iestir was in a bind from which he could not escape. Lindir winced sympathetically when he noticed the sweat dripping from Iestir’s brow and heard the sharp, panicked breaths from the elf’s lips.

When he was finished, Annatar tossed the leather thongs and large sack back into the trunk before rising, closing the trunk, and carrying it into a corner. Then he undid the ties of his cloak and took that off to toss it over the trunk.

Iestir was talking again; his gaze scanning Annatar’s every move. It was clear to Lindir that the elf thought Annatar was about to violate him… or torture him… or at least to maim him in some dreadful way. When Annatar leaned down and withdrew a dagger from his boot, the intake of terrified breath shook Lindir to his bones. Ilúvatar, was Annatar really going to cut him? He could not believe it! In Eregion, in Eregion before it’s fall, Annatar was really going to maim an elf and at that, an honoured elf known to King Gil-galad?

“Normally, aye, I would slay you, Iestir,” Annatar said, not looking at him. “But as you undoubtedly have noticed, I have a number of wolves in my care, all of whom need to be fed and…” he turned slightly and looked sidelong at Iestir, who was eyeing the wolves nervously, “…are in want of amusement. You, by simply staying where you are, supply both those needs.” He smiled slightly at Iestir’s horrified look. “If you struggle, they will take what they want with their lecherous, childish appetites and tear you asunder at the same time. If you submit to them peaceably, they will not consume you after you are dead from the effects of their revelry. You have two choices. Are you wed?”

Iestir shook his head.

“How fortuitous for you, child: the shock of the violation should kill you quickly,” Annatar said smoothly, smiling at him. “Choose wisely, Iestir.” Then he walked over to the cages and began to unlock the door of each one.

Lindir did not wish to watch anymore. The snarls and the snapping jaws of the wolves as they surrounded Iestir’s trembling, helpless body terrified him even as an observer. He could not imagine how it felt to be Iestir. He looked to Annatar, but the Maia had already left the room, taking his cloak and the trunk with him. He looked back at Iestir and cringed when he saw one of the wolves seize the back of Iestir’s right arm to pull it outwards, forcing Iestir to move with him and widen the stance of his legs. There came a pained exhalation and Lindir saw his sleeve tear and blood start to ooze out from beneath.

Iestir said nothing. He must have chosen to let them do what they wished because he did not move, not even when the chief wolf began to lick at his leggings and began to rip them with his paws. Not even after many scratches and bleeding cuts had been inflicted and Iestir’s entrance and bleeding thighs and buttocks were exposed and first one, then the other wolves could take him, did Iestir move.

Annatar returned when the last wolf was withdrawing, the red dripping penis sliding back into its furry encasement. As Annatar moved towards the body, the wolves slunk back into their cages. The chief of them went last of all, and hung the longest around Iestir. Iestir had shut his eyes long ago.

Annatar crouched down beside the body and regarded Iestir’s face for a while, frozen as it was with distress. Then he suddenly made a soft amused noise in his throat. “So you are still alive. Well, well, well.” He laughed then and reached out to take Iestir’s limp genitals in hand and push upwards. Semen, squeezed out by the pressure against his anus, seeped down to his scrotum, tinted with blood. There was a lot of it. Lindir saw Iestir eyes open slowly. Annatar released Iestir and wiped his hand clean on the elf’s thigh. “You surprise me, Iestir,” he said then. “Who knew Gil-galad let such sluttish subjects rise so high in status.”

A flicker of resigned protest shone in Iestir’s eyes. Annatar merely smiled. “You are a rare breed. You shall acquaint me with your lecherous body whilst we are together.” And in response to another look from Iestir, “Oh, we shall be together for a long time, Iestir. A long time indeed.” Then he leaned over, undid the chain attaching Iestir to the cage, and took Iestir in his arms. Then he stood and carried the elf to the door and through that to his study and then to his bedroom.

Lindir followed. He had never been in Annatar’s bedroom. It looked standard luxurious Eregion fare: large windows, large bed, large columns… he watched Annatar lay Iestir down on the bed and retrieve his dagger before cutting away the elf’s sleeve. A touch and the elf’s arm was completely healed. Lindir felt an irrational burst of disappointment and envy. Why had Annatar never taken _him_ in Eregion? Why had Annatar only shown his true side to him after his mask had disappeared and he had started a war?

He watched Annatar attach Iestir’s collar chain to the bedhead. Then Annatar undid Iestir’s cuffs and divested the elf of his clothes. Iestir said nothing; he just let him. When Iestir was finally naked, Annatar lay down beside him on the cushions and took the elf by the hair to turn him towards him.

“You may not have slept with Gil-galad, but the wolves have intimated to me that you are no virgin.” Annatar ran his hand down Iestir’s chest. “So satisfy me, little one. Satisfy the biggest wolf of all.”

Swallowing, looking as if he truly did not know what he had gotten himself into or how he had come to be kneeling on the bed, Iestir bent his head and reached out towards Annatar’s leggings…

He cringed when Annatar slapped his hands away. “No hands,” Annatar told him. “Use those pouting lips.”

Trembling, Iestir bent his head and lowered his lips to the leggings to take the laces in his teeth.

Lindir suddenly felt a familiar cold arm slip around his waist. He looked nervously at Eönwë, who was smirking at him. “Already aroused?” Eönwë asked, reaching down and feeling Lindir’s genitals. Lindir yelped, then, when he realised the truth in Eönwë’s words, felt his face fill with blood. He had not yet been milked. Mortified, he lowered his eyes when he felt Eönwë massage his slight erection, causing it to stiffen further. “I can cure this easily,” Eönwë told him softly, turning him towards him and replacing his hand with his thigh. Lindir choked. He looked sidelong at Annatar and Iestir. Iestir was licking Annatar's erection. Annatar's hand was still coiled in Iestir's long hair. There were tears in Iestir's eyes.

“Is this what Melkor did with you?” Eönwë whispered in his ear. Lindir trembled with both disgust and arousal as he watched the tears slipping down Iestir's face. He felt disorientated. He felt confused. He felt aroused. He felt sick. Why was Eönwë doing this to him? Why was Melkor hurting Iestir?

“Earlier, Halmir recalled to Namo what the orcs did to him in the Misty Mountains and when he was taken to Barad-dur,” Eönwë said then. “Perhaps, considering how much this scene with Iestir has affected you, you would desire to see Halmir's memory of his torment as well.”

“I do not,” Lindir wept. “I do not! Stop this! Please! I do not want to see it!”

“Are you certain? You would so enjoy it, Lindir.”

“I do not!” Lindir screamed. “Let me go!”

And with that, the vision suddenly faded and he found himself standing back in the mural room. He hurriedly extracted his throbbing crotch from Eönwë’s thigh, but the Maia kept a strong hold on his waist.

“Then I shall escort you back to your bedroom,” Eönwë said quietly.

~*~

Chapter 49

After Elrond had fetched him a drink, the half elf resumed his seat a second time. He leaned forward in his chair and waited until Glorfindel had taken a sip of his drink and nodded his approval before venturing to answer Glorfindel's question. “What do you know of the Houseless?”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. “As much as most elves, I expect. When the body is broken, the spirit leaves it and travels to Mandos. Some call the Houseless that state when a spirit is without a body. Some call the Houseless those spirits who reject the summons to Mandos and choose to reside in that state.”

“Are you aware that Houseless spirits have been known to enter the bodies of others? To usurp the ownership of the body or convince the indwelling spirit to enter into co-ownership of the body?”

“I have heard of cases of the former. Why?”  
“I tested samples of the blood of Linden and the unborn child inside Lindir. They are three-quarter siblings.”

Glorfindel considered this for a few moments. Then he said, “So the sire of this new child and Lindir's three eldest are half the same? Who is the different sire? Is it a Houseless spirit? Did Sauron sire each child with a different spirit?”

“Nay, the identical sire is not Sauron. Sauron, it turns out, is one of the different sires. The identical sires are twins, which is why I could not see a difference between them when I looked at the blood.”

“Who are these twins?”

“Melkor half sired the Lindir's eldest three with Sauron and Manwë sired the unborn one with Eönwë.”

There was a long silence. Disbelief changed to shock, then puzzlement filled Glorfindel's face. “Why?” he asked. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“The Valar are almost completely sterile. They cannot sire children through sexual intercourse. The Maiar also have trouble when their mate is also Maian. However, when a Maia takes one of the Children of Ilúvatar as a mate, there is success. I believe Melkor and Manwë united with their most faithful Maian servants out of a desire to sire children. Why they chose Lindir I am unsure. I suspect it is because, according to my contacts, Lindir was the only test subject of Melkor's and Sauron's who successfully bore a child to full term for them.”

“Was that because Lindir bonded to Sauron?”

“Or bonded to both of them. We do not know for how long Melkor dwelt inside Sauron. It may be that they first came to dwell within the same body when Melkor was claimed to have been cast into the Void at the end of the War of Wrath. We now know that to be a lie.”

“Who sits in the defendant chair in the courtroom?”

“Apparently, those who knew Sauron well cannot sense him in the body of the defendant. Some say that his spirit has been destroyed by the spirit of Melkor. Others say that Sauron has left.”

“Does Linden know of the identity of the sires?”

“Aye, and Laiglas, but I have not told Lindo. I have elected not to tell him by mail. I already hang onto my station as one of Lindir's carers as if I am standing on the edge of a knife and do not wish to be dismissed. Faramir and I obtained our stations through Elbereth who was unaware of Lindir's imprisonment and impregnation in Eönwë's halls until I alerted her to that fact. Thanks to my father, Earendil, I was allowed to meet her alone and show her the blood samples and the evidence that I had gathered. It was she who ordered Manwë to move Lindir to their halls and to provide him with healers known to him.”

Glorfindel shivered as he recalled the icy corridors and rooms of Eönwë's halls. “Was Lindir ill treated in Eönwë's halls?”

Elrond's face darkened. “Ill treated is too light a word. He may be the mother of the child, but I think, to Manwë and Eönwë, he is not merely a means to an end as he was for Melkor and Sauron. I think both Manwë and Eönwë genuinely hate him.”

“A means to an end? Was there any genuine love held for Lindir by Melkor and Sauron?”

“Perhaps. If there was, it was a strange love. When Lindir was not confined to the darkness and loneliness of a small cell, he was a caretaker of test subjects or a test subject himself. He was a special test subject, certainly, and was permitted to learn more about the experiments than any other who lived in those parts of the laboratories, but he was still a thrall.”

“You said that Lindir was in the third trimester, but that his fate was uncertain. What is to be his fate after he has given birth?”

“I do not know. I do not think he will be able to return under his own name to Elvenhome. News will spread once the trial is over and all the witnesses and audiences have ventured back to their homes. I fear that Manwë will wish for Lindir to remain in his halls, or at least close to him in an effort to hide the evidence of his misdeeds.”

“Does Ingwë play any part in this masking of Manwë's lies and cruelties?”

“I do not know. Perhaps. I am inclined, however, to believe that the three Kings of Elvenhome have been deliberately kept ignorant and those who have heard a whisper of the evil truth have been too occupied with the domestic concerns of their kingdom to investigate. Remember also that we were granted Elvenhome by the Valar. To question their intentions could be unwise. We are no match for their strength.”

~*~

As Glorfindel had anticipated, Estel was waiting for him when Glorfindel returned to the witness apartment near midnight that night. The diminutive elf was sitting at the dining table before a barely touched spread of cold meat, bread, and fruit. When Glorfindel entered the room, the elf looked up, a brooding expression on his face.

“Estel,” Glorfindel said, a trifle cautiously. He knew that Iestir would have done as he had commanded and breached the subject of Lindir's affair with Sauron to the elf, and he had little idea of Estel's reaction to such news. “Have Iestir and Halmir returned?”

“Iestir returned not long before you and immediately retired. Halmir has not yet returned,” Estel said quietly. He pursed his lips and looked at the spread before him. “I hope you are hungry because I fear Halmir, when he eventually returns, will not wish to eat either.”

No mention of Lindir and Sauron from Estel's lips so far. Had Iestir failed him, then? Glorfindel looked at the closed door that led to the room that he shared with Iestir, then back to Estel. “Lindir has been confined in Manwë's halls. Only two elves have access to him: by day, Elrond cares for him and Faramir cares for him at night.”

Estel's brow creased. “Faramir of the orphanage?”

“The same, so it seems.” Glorfindel noticed how calm Estel now looked when speaking of Lindir. He decided to query what Iestir had told him. “Did Iestir speak to you?”

“He did.” Estel gestured to the seat opposite from him at the table. “Sit down.” When Glorfindel moved to sit, the elf reached over and took the empty plate and began to fill it with food from the table. Then he handed it to Glorfindel who took it with a nod and words of thanks.

Estel watched him start to eat, then continued. “Iestir told me that he was afraid that I would lose my will to care for former thralls. I told him off from thinking so little of me. Regardless of Lindir's reasons for collaborating with Sauron, the fact remains that the suffering and destruction wrought by Sauron's hands require healing and restoration. Perhaps the loss of Lindir and my guilt regarding his enslavement lit the spark of the fire that led me to where I now stand as the head of the orphanage, but that fire is not now sustained by either my guilt or any desire for revenge.”

“How will you reconcile the idea of Lindir loving such a creature when that evil is the cause of the suffering that you must heal daily at the orphanage?”

“I do not know that I will ever be able to reconcile such an idea. I will come to that challenge when I come to it. Have _you_ reconciled the two conflicting ideas in your own mind?”

“Nay.” Glorfindel thought back to what he had learned through his discussion with Elrond only a short time earlier. He had had trouble comprehending Sauron as the sire of Laiglas, Lindo and Linden before he had met Elrond tonight. Now, after having heard what the half-elf had had to say to him, he doubted that he would ever be able to comprehend the three additional sires as well. How was he to explain everything that he had heard to Estel?

“But you have not rejected Lindir. Not yet.” Here, Estel nodded at the golden ring that graced Glorfindel's wedding finger. “Will you leave him?”

“Perhaps,” Glorfindel said. Then he said, more truthfully, “Probably.”

“What will finalise the decision in your mind?”

“It is already decided for now. I do not wish to leave him at this time, not when I can help him, certainly not when leaving him might cause him any further grief. I intend to leave him afterwards, when he is back to health, after all this chaos has ended.”

Estel was silent for a while. Then he said, “How do you intend to help Lindir when you cannot see him?”

“I intend to visit Manwë's halls tomorrow. Then, if I am not permitted entrance or if things go otherwise ill, I will seek an audience with Ingwë and ask for his assistance. In the meantime, I would that you seek out Faramir.”

“I will,” Estel said.

They ate a while in silence. Glorfindel mulled over how he would venture what Elrond had told him to Estel. Presently he heard soft footsteps at the door. He lowered his cutlery and looked around to observe Halmir standing with his back to them and closing the door behind him. Glorfindel noticed that the elf's hands were trembling slightly. When the elf turned around, Glorfindel saw that his face was ashen.

“Ex-excuse me,” Halmir said faintly, then he retreated to his room and disappeared into the gloom. Estel rose swiftly and disappeared into the room after him. The door shut.

After a while, when neither Estel nor Halmir emerged, Glorfindel rose and went into the room that he shared with Iestir. On entering, he found Iestir lying in bed in the darkness, but not asleep. The elf looked at him when Glorfindel entered.

“Halmir has returned,” Glorfindel told him as he went over to the wardrobe and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. “He looked ill.” He shrugged off the garment and set on undoing the laces of his breeches.

“He would,” Iestir said quietly, watching him. “Faramir told him not to suppress his memories with sedatives. Now he is paying for it; he is a fool.”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. He hung up his shirt and breeches and pushed his shoes together at the foot of the wardrobe door. “You do not like Halmir, do you,” he observed as he reached for a clean nightshirt.

“I pity him,” Iestir said as Glorfindel pulled the shirt over his head.

Glorfindel looked at him questioningly as he fastened the buttons at the front of the night shirt. “Why?” He pushed back his hair and pulled the ends out from under the collar of the shirt.

“His heart is full of hatred, most of it directed towards himself,” Iestir said.

“He hates himself? Why do you think that he hates himself?”

“When I met Halmir in Lothlorien, before we were both enslaved, he was a much loved and respected young captain. He was meticulous with his training, both physically and mentally, devoted his time to little else. As a result, he had an extremely high tolerance of pain and was near fearless. On the battlefield, his courage was infectious. I admired him. I saw a glorious future ahead of him.”

“What happened?”

“Then I met him in Barad-dur. He had changed so much that I barely recognised him. Sauron had completely stripped him of control of his body. His impotence to do anything about it and the resignation or even acceptance of the other thralls to the experiments drove Halmir half mad with grief and fury.”

“So he hates himself because of his inability to do anything about his fate as a thrall?”

“Nay. He hates himself because every time he attempted to do something about his fate whilst in thraldom, he failed. He blames himself for those failures.”

Glorfindel sat down on the side of the bed. “Halmir told me that the reason why he accepted a second life was because his family was and remains supportive of him.”

Iestir looked thoughtful. “Did he say why he decided to stay at the orphanage?”

“He said that after visiting them, he realised that his duties lay with the orphanage.”

Iestir snorted softly. Glorfindel looked at him curiously, but Iestir was looking at the ceiling and did not elaborate on his thoughts. There was a silence.

“How went the interview?” Glorfindel asked then.

“Like the nightmare,” Iestir said quietly, his gaze not shifting from the ceiling. “I dream of my enslavement every night. Time has healed the rawness, but it still hurts.”

“Will you return tomorrow?”

“Aye. It was easier to share the memories with the interviewer than I anticipated. Not easy, but easier.” Iestir looked at him then. “How went your meeting with Elrond? Will you visit Lindir tomorrow?”

“Lindir has been confined in Manwë's halls. Elrond and Faramir take care of him in shifts, but no one else is permitted to see him. I intend to attempt to see him tomorrow. Then, if that fails, I think I may consult Ingwë.”

“May?”

“I am not on good speaking terms with Ingwë.”

Iestir's brow knitted. “Why not?”

“He disapproves of my relationship with Lindir.”

“He or his household?” When Glorfindel frowned, Iestir continued, “I mean no offence, I was referring to the distinction between a King's mind and the mind that he must take on as head of his household.”

“Is there a distinction in this matter?”

“Not necessarily. Not if he disapproves and his household disapproves as well.”

Glorfindel's brow creased. He had never made a distinction between Ingwë's personal thoughts and what choices Ingwë made as ruler of a household and kingdom. Surely Ingwë had too much self-respect, too much stubbornness to speak and act against his own wishes. Was there a distinction? Did it matter when it came to his seeking help from Ingwë?

He sighed and lay down on his back on his bed. He would find out tomorrow.

~*~

Lindir slept fitfully that night on his return to bed. In the small hours, unable to bear the throbbing of his blistered hand any longer, he rose and went into the bathroom to soak a cloth in cold water. He wrapped this around his hand, then sat down on the edge of the bath and looked at the small white stars woven in the fabric of the walls of the room.

He had come no closer to learning what Manwë intended for him after the birth of the child. However, he had invested some thought in careful consideration of what he would do in the event he be released. Or rather, what he would not do. Starting with Glorfindel. He could not expect to rely on Glorfindel. Or either of the children that he had sired with Glorfindel.

He also could not expect to be allowed to live in Elvenhome. How far the details of the trial travelled, he did not know, but he could not assume that they would stop at the boundary set down by Lorien's servants around the foot of Taniquetil.

Where, then, would he live? The rest of Valinor was the domain of the Valar and Valier. He would have to serve one of them. He thought back to the room of murals, of portals to the other domains, and a shiver ran up his spine. What if, after the birth, Manwë asked him to stay on Taniquetil and serve him?

Perhaps he should rephrase the question: what if the Lord of Arda, Lord of the Ainur and the Children, asked him to serve him and he refused? What would be the likelihood of his being able to refuse such a invitation, much less obtain a station in another realm of the Valar and Valier?

He covered his mouth with his unhurt hand, would have cursed bitterly, but he was too shaken to come up with the words. This could not be, there had to be some end to this webbed trap into which he seemed to have blindly blundered. Was he to live here until the end of the world?

Then, after a few moments longer, he stilled and lowered his hand, his eyes became flat and oval. What alternative did he have now? There was no home for him in Elvenhome anymore and no doubt the other realms of the Valar and Valier would be just as strange and unwelcoming of him, if not more so. At least he knew something of Manwë's servants and knew that they hated him and vice versa.

He sighed, rose, and padded his way quietly back to bed. On the way, he looked at Faramir and his eyes passed over the empty cup of tea and plate of half-touched fruit and cheese that lay on the table before the elf. His gaze lingered on the cheese knife. Then he turned away and continued on his way back to the bed. There was a small bowl of white powder sitting on the bedside table, next to a jug of water and a half full cup of water. Faramir had placed it there on his second shift and told him that a pinch of it would help him sleep and suppress his dreams.

Lindir topped up the cup, then took a pinch of powder from the bowl. He dropped the granules into the water. After a few moments, without really thinking, he reached again for the bowl and this time, took a small handful. He dumped it in the water, waited a few moments, then downed the whole cup, wincing slightly at the bitterness. Then he lay down on the bed and waited for the cloak of sleep to shroud his eyes.

~*~

The following morning, on rising at dawn, Glorfindel discovered that he was not the first to rise. Halmir was sitting at the table and eating the remains of the previous night's supper.

“Good morning,” Glorfindel greeted him, taking the seat opposite and reaching out to feel the side of the teapot to check the temperature and quantity of the contents. It was freshly brewed and near full so he poured himself a cup.

“Greetings,” Halmir responded. His voice was soft and hoarse. Glorfindel looked carefully at his face. Halmir met his gaze fleetingly, then looked back at his plate. Glorfindel face clouded on seeing the elf's pallor.

“Are you going to continue with the witness interviews?” he ventured.

“Nay.” Halmir did not elaborate. Glorfindel thought back to Iestir's words regarding Halmir's self-hatred the previous night and wondered if Halmir viewed this inability to continue with the interviews as further failure.

“What will you do whilst Iestir continues with the interviews?”

“Does Iestir intend to continue?”

“Aye, that is what he told me last night,” Glorfindel said.

There was a silence. Then Glorfindel cautiously said, “Is it possible that the sedatives that you take in order to sleep without nightmares have increased the trauma of recollection?”

“It is certain, not possible,” Halmir said quietly, looking at him. “But what alternative do I have? To endure the nightmares? I spent yesterday evening after my interview with their healers, drinking their sedatives, far weaker than Faramir's brew. This is how I look after taking sedatives.”

“How do you look if you do not take them?”

“As I have said before, reality blurs into my nightmares. I become a danger to myself and to others. Madness, Estel calls it. He is the only one who has seen it.”

Glorfindel's face clouded. “Why? Forgive me my curiosity, but what happened to you in thraldom? Why are your memories so much harder to endure than Iestir's or Faramir's?” He did not refer to Lindir, aware that Lindir was a delicate subject with Halmir.

“I do not know. Perhaps it is my constitution. Perhaps it is because I truly suffered more than them. Unlike them, I did not start off as a test subject, but as prey in the orc pits. As I have said before, I would not have taken a second life if I had not promised my family that I would return.”

“How often do you see your family? Your wife and daughter, I mean,” Glorfindel said.

“I have not seen them since I left Mandos. We exchange letters.”

“Do you think it would help you to see more of them?”

“Nay.” Halmir hesitated, then said, “Glorfindel, I saw little of my family even when I lived in Lorinand. My wife, I had only wed a few years before Eregion's fall and in those years, I could not have spent more than a score days with her as my life was devoted completely and utterly to protecting the borders of the wood.”

“You do not think that you should spend more time with her now?”

Halmir opened his mouth, then he closed it. Suddenly, he looked pained. “She has a lover. And my daughter, who was only a babe when I left, is married and has children of her own.”

“Yet you state that they support you?”

“They do. My wife has frequently mentioned in her letters to me that I am welcome to stay in the house that she shares with her lover. She mentions job openings when they become available in Tirion that she thinks might interest me... It is not a relationship like that found in stories or idealised in the customs. We meant to work on it when we married, but our fates lay apart. Now all that is left is our duty to support each other as husband and wife.”

 _As dictated by the customs._ Glorfindel sipped at his tea. He knew that he could never stand for such a relationship. To think of Lindir living with Sauron and Melkor. Nay, he could not even comprehend such a situation. Regardless, the customs were only rules made by elves to control other elves, made by Ingwë and the other Kings and their numerous advisors.

“Estel told me last night that you intend to venture to Lord Manwë's halls this morning,” Halmir said then.

Glorfindel nodded. “Lindir has been interned in those halls,” he said.

“What do you intend to do should you see him?”

“I intend to help him.”

“How?”

“That depends on what help he requires and my means to provide that help,” Glorfindel said. He sipped at his tea, then ventured, “he is my husband. You can appreciate that I am obliged to support him.”

“Aye.”

~*~

Sauron never did visit him when Lindir left his station as head caretaker. Locked in his sightless, soundless cell, Lindir lost all track of time. He slumbered most of the time, drifted in dreams of the past, frightened himself with his own voice when his body stirred to cough or sneeze. Frequently, he fancied himself mad. He thought up games, spoke to himself in all the different tongues that he knew and fumbled for words that had slipped to the furthest reaches of his memory or disappeared from it altogether. He sang the old songs, cried to the old songs, shouted them at the top of his voice and clawed at the door in desperate bids for freedom when it all became too much, then fell, exhausted and tearful and enraged back to the floor and beat at the floor with his fists, cursing Sauron with the foulest words of every tongue known to him.

When he was eventually released, the noise and light and movement assaulted him, pained him beyond belief, beyond anything he had ever known. He screamed when they seized him and dragged him from the room. Where they took him, he did not know. The world swirled before his eyes and it was all too much, all too much for his strangled senses to comprehend. Then it was dark once more and again, he was left in another eternity of darkness and loneliness.

Twice more they moved him. On the last time, it was to Dol Guldur and it was Sauron who took him there with a number of other servants and slaves. They went under cover of darkness and Lindir was all too dazed to register much of it. It was only later, once he had become a caretaker of the new laboratories in Dol Guldur and started to converse with the other thralls, that he even realised that he was in Rhovanion and no longer in Mordor.

~*~

The doors at the top of the crystal stairs to Manwë's and Varda's halls lay open and unmanned so Glorfindel, on briskly ascending the stairs, ventured into the entrance hall and looked around. It was silent, uncomfortably so. He opened his mouth to call out, then thought better of making his presence known and ascended a nearby stairwell to make his way along a passageway that lay above and which seemed to be woven of the same deep blue starry fabric as the sky outside.

An archway lay ahead and as he neared it, he saw that it was not an archway, but in fact a mural, though more lifelike than any that he had ever seen before in his life. Beyond it lay a bedroom, made of the same stuff as the passageway and lavishly furnished with elven furniture.

Elrond sat in a chair at a table, reading a parchment taken from a pile that sat on the chair next to him. Before him at the table lay a rich spread of breakfast food. A filled plate lay before Elrond. Another plate, empty, sat on the other side of the table. On seeing this other plate, Glorfindel looked around the room and soon found the other occupant, the one he sought, lying almost completely obscured by the coverlets of the bed.

Lindir looked pale and thin, thinner than Glorfindel had ever seen him, and troubled in his slumber. There was a white bandage – or was it a towel – wrapped around the hand that lay upon the coverlet.

Glorfindel searched the mural with his fingers – for some handle, some lock that might gain him entrance to the room beyond, his face clouding as his efforts failed. Eventually, frustrated, furious, he struck the mural with the flat of his palm and turned away to continue down the passageway in search of another way into the room.

He turned a corner in the passageway and then saw, at last, ahead of him, a doorway into another room. But as he came to it, his heart sank when all he saw inside the circular room was a large pool that appeared to be full of light. On approaching and looking into it, he saw the source of the light. It had a crystal floor that looked down to the sunlit plateau of Mount Taniquetil and, far beneath the mountain top, the green slopes of the Kingdom of the Vanyar.

He was about to turn away when all of a sudden, the view of Valinor disappeared and was replaced by another, of an image far more familiar to Glorfindel. Gondolin in the summer, as he used to see it when he went out hunting with Ecthelion at the foot of the surrounding mountains, the white city blindingly bright under the sunshine.

The memory of Gondolin was again replaced, this time by Valinor, an older Valinor lit not by sunshine, but by the light of the two trees. A young Gildor sat at Glorfindel's desk in the boarding house at court in Tirion, rifling through Glorfindel's drawers, reading his letters. Glorfindel smirked as he saw it. He did not recall such a memory. Perhaps this was all part of a history relating to him. What else would this viewing pool show him?

Then the picture in the pool shifted again and Glorfindel's smile faded when he saw Lindir sitting on a table in a vast black stone room, surrounded by corpses, some of the faces frozen in grimaces of agony. Lindir was laughing and chattering away to Sauron, who stood at another table, disemboweling one of the bodies, open jars to one side, his mask removed, a small amused smile on his lips as he listened to whatever Lindir was spouting to him.

The image changed abruptly to Imladris. Night time. The nursery – Glingal's crib. Lindir standing leaning against the door to the bedroom where he slept with Glorfindel with arms folded around his waist, a worried expression on his face. Laiglas sat on a chair, his breeches undone, Glingal suckling on the tip of his erection, milk at the corners of his small mouth.

Glorfindel covered his mouth with his hand. He wanted to turn away, but then the image changed and it looked safer. It was Ecthelion in a corridor outside the courtroom in Tirion, arguing animatedly with Estel, who looked equally angry. Guards approached to escort Estel away from the doors of the courtroom, which was crowded with elves dressed in spring costumes, mirth in their faces. Then the scene melted away and was replaced by a vision of Inglor standing in Glorfindel's boarding house room and speaking with the boarding house head. The prince looked tired and troubled. The boarding house head looked nervous.

Yet again the vision changed, back to the black stone of Barad-dur. An emaciated golden haired elf lay in chains on a floor in a small cell. His face was covered entirely by a sightless mask, the only openings a slit for the mouth and at the nostrils. Tubes extended from the nostrils, lined with blood and pus. His body shivered with each pained breath. The door opened and Lindir entered, a basin full of oddments in one arm. Lindir, an anxious expression on his face, hooked the keys with which he had opened the door back on his belt, then knelt down beside the elf and felt his belly, which Glorfindel noticed then was swollen. Lindir's hand felt lower, then disappeared between the golden haired elf's legs. The inmate suddenly flinched and pawed blindly at the Lindir's arm with a thin arm. Lindir seized the pawing limb at the wrist and held it still against the stone floor. Glorfindel had to look away.

When he looked back, the image had changed. Now it dwelt on Elrond in Imladris, his hair tied back, clad in full healer dress, bent over a bed on which a young Gloredhel lay asleep and anaesthesised, his lower abdomen open, oblivious to Elrond slicing away at the immature parasite dwelling within Gloredhel with perfect, accurate strokes.

The image changed back to Gondolin. Now it dwelt on one of the many young elves that Glorfindel had taken to his bed in his life. The elf stood before a fruit stall at the crowded market, searching through the apple basket. He exchanged mirthful words with the stall owner.

Back again, then, to Valinor, to the Fourth Age, to the halls in which he currently stood, to the bedroom in the mural. Only this time Lindir was not slumbering in the bed, but sitting awkwardly on the floor wedged against the foot of the bed as if he had fallen there. He looked pale and frightened. Indeed, he was visibly trembling. Eönwë was crouched before him. The Maia pushed up Lindir's nightshirt, exposing Lindir's heavily pregnant belly and genitals. He searched the swollen abdomen with his fingers for a while, then reached up beneath the top of the nightshirt towards the elf's nipples. Lindir jerked his body away, as if in pain. Eönwë, looking angered, struck Lindir across the face. Glorfindel jumped when he did that, then he started again when the waters abruptly cleared and he saw, right behind his reflection, Eönwë's face. A hand touched his back and he whirled around, but it was already too late. As he fell into the pool, he observed the smirk on Eönwë's face with bewilderment and anger. Then the waters closed over his face and suddenly he was falling through air, not water, and he was plummeting like a stone, his smoldering golden armour like a furnace about his limbs. He could smell the burning body of the balrog, he could smell the burning of his own body ensnared and in agony within the roasting armour. Above him, the clouds lay thick and dark, beneath him, the rocky floor of the crevasse rapidly loomed, black and cold. Then it smashed into him and he remembered nothing more.

The waters of the pool were freezing cold, not boiling hot. Glorfindel burst to the surface, his lungs screaming for air. As he heaved himself dazedly up from the side, he looked up and glared at Eönwë, who stood a few feet away, observing him in cool amusement.

“Come with me,” Eönwë ordered, and turned away to walk out of the room. The Maia's voice sounded different, stronger, colder, more commanding than Glorfindel recalled. Was it Eönwë? He thought back to what Elrond had told him – that Manwë had joined with Eönwë to sire the child growing within Lindir's belly – and struggled to his feet and headed after the Maia, shrugging off his sodden cloak as he did so and wringing it out over the passageway floor.

Eönwë led him up another flight of stairs. At the top, they left the halls and ventured onto a vast crystal platform from which extended the steps that led through the stars. Beneath them, the lands of Valinor stretched in their entirety. Here, Eönwë turned to face him and Glorfindel saw then that it was not Eönwë, but the King of Arda himself as he had seen him in the courtroom all those months ago. Or both of them. He stared at Manwë, wanting and yet resisting the urge to kneel.

“After the birth, Lindir will enter my service,” Manwë said quietly. When Glorfindel's face darkened, the Vala said, “Is not that the information you sought in coming here?”

“Is that what Lindir wants?” Glorfindel asked doubtfully.

“Lindir knows that he cannot return to Elvenhome alone. He understands that to reside amongst the Ainur, he must serve one of the Valar or Valier.”

“He does not have to return to Elvenhome alone. I will take him.”

“But you intend to leave him.”

Glorfindel fell silent. He had no response to that observation. He could not bring himself to lie and deny the fact that he did, in his heart, wish to annul the marriage.

After a while, Manwë excused himself with words that Glorfindel was allowed to stay and linger on the platform for as long as he wished and descended the stairwell. Glorfindel sat down slowly on the platform and looked down at the lands of Valinor, the mountains and beyond them, to the Great Sea.

As he looked upon Belegaer, the Great Sea, he felt a sudden great longing in his chest. Where now lay Beleriand? Why were the shores of Middle-earth still so far from sight? His two homes, Gondolin, Imladris, even here, on the top of the world of the Ainur, he could not see them. He wondered if it had been a mistake to return to Valinor, to follow everyone else. Perhaps he should have stayed on in Imladris, kept Lindir with him, ignorance guarding his bliss.

He sat there a long time, contemplating and regretting the choices that he had made that had brought him here. Now it seemed Lindir lay utterly beyond his reach. They had not exchanged loving words at their parting; now, it seemed that those parting words would be their last words indeed.

Arien approached in the sky and as it grew warmer, Glorfindel rose and retreated back down into the depths of the halls. As he came to the mural of Lindir's room, he stopped and gazed at length at the image of his sleeping spouse. Then he raised his fingers to his lips and kissed them, before pressing the tips against Lindir's sleeping face. Would this be the last time he saw him?

He left the halls and descended the crystal stairwell. On looking back, he saw that the stairwell had disappeared and the doors to the halls, barely visible against the identical fabric of the sky, were now closed. Manwë had admitted him. Glorfindel knew in his heart that Manwë would not do so again. Now he regretted leaving the halls at all.

He trudged back to the witness halls. Estel, Halmir, and Iestir were all absent. Estel had left a note for him on the table, which indicated that the three elves had ventured in search of Faramir. After changing his clothes and laying out his still-damp clothes to dry, Glorfindel sat down and stared at the note for a while. Then, abruptly, his face darkened and he rose and took up a dry cloak. Why had he failed to protest Manwë's words regarding Lindir's fate? Who held more responsibility for destroying Lindir's reputation? How did anything of what Manwë had said to him excuse the cruelty of Lindir's current condition?

And regardless, regardless of Lindir's past crimes and past complicity in Sauron and Morgoth's terrible projects, this was no way to treat anyone. Even if Ingwë refused to assist him and refused to even try to understand Glorfindel's predicament, at least Glorfindel had enough with which to venture a weighty complaint regarding the Vala to the King.


	4. Chapter 50-62

Chapter 50 – Ingil

When Lindir stirred from slumber, he discovered Eönwë sitting on the side of the bed beside him and watching him with a neutral expression. On sitting up and looking quickly around the room, he also discovered that he could not see Elrond. He looked warily back at Eönwë, memories of last night and Iestir's recollection flooding back to him. The Maia smiled thinly at him.

“Where is Elrond?” Lindir ventured.

“I persuaded him to leave a few moments ago in search of a substance to reverse the effect of Faramir's sleeping potion. He grew anxious when he found himself unable to wake you this morning. He will return shortly when he realises that your inability to wake this morning was induced by myself and not the potion.”

Lindir's eyes narrowed. “You wished to see me alone?”

“Indeed.” Eönwë reached out and grasped the edge of the blanket covering Lindir's body. He pulled it off, exposing Lindir's small, strange body, half-naked, his twisted night shirt barely covering his swollen abdomen let alone his genitals. Lindir tensed and when Eönwë reached out to search his abdomen with his cold fingers and push the night shirt further up his chest, he flinched, mostly from the shock of the icy touch, but also fear of Eönwë's intentions. 

Eönwë did not seem interested in hurting him. He examined Lindir's pregnant belly for a while, an attentive expression on his face. grew bolder in the silence and eventually ventured, “What are you going to do with your child once it is born?”

“That is not your concern.” Eönwë did not meet his gaze; his eyes remained on Lindir's belly.

“Will it know of my existence?”

“Of course it will know that it has a mother.”

Lindir stared at him in frustration. Eönwë knew what he meant; why did he deliberately avoid answering his question when they both knew that he could read his mind? “Will I be allowed to see it? Will it know of me and my name?” he pressed.

“Nay to both questions.” Still, Eönwë did not lift his gaze.

Lindir had anticipated this outcome, but it still hurt, even though he loathed the way in which the child had come to be. Why had they bothered to surround him with this material luxuries when he was nothing more than a bitch to be thrown away after the event? He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, then swallowed. He noticed that his upper chest felt sore and looked down to observe two red patches of skin under his collarbones.

“When you did not respond to his calls, shaking, or tweaking of your nose, Elrond attempted to wake you by massaging those areas with his knuckles. Painful stimuli, he called it.”

Lindir looked at Eönwë and saw cold laughter in the Maia's eyes, which were still directed at his abdomen. He could well imagine Eönwë's amusement on observing an alarmed Elrond's attempts to wake him. Lindir looked away.

“What about its name? Am I to name it as the mother?”

“Nay. It is a child of the Ainur; our naming customs are different from those of the elves.”

Lindir's jaw tightened. _But of course,_ he thought bitterly. _The Ainur create the rules to suit themselves._

Eönwë's fingers stilled and the Maia at last raised his eyes to give eye contact. His gaze was thoughtful. There was a brief silence.

Presently, the Maia quietly observed, “You have grown harder.”

Lindir did not respond. The observation matched his own suspicions, but he did not need Eönwë's words to confirm the change in his personality. He exhaled heavily. What did it matter? So he was growing more bitter and more hard. Perhaps he was growing more resilient too.

Eönwë answered his thoughts. “Nay, you are growing weaker,” he declared. “You were always weak, but now you welcome the idea of escape, even if that means embracing the fate of the Houseless. It is the desperation shared by the thralls whom you helped to torture and humiliate.”

Lindir looked away. _You torment me because of my relationship with Sauron and Melkor. I am just a geegaw of theirs and yours as well. Death would be welcome._

There was another silence. Then Eönwë said, his voice quiet again, “Death is a path closed to you, whether before or after the birth.”

_How can you forbid me from severing my spirit from my body? It is only my body you desire, after all. Why must you torment my spirit too? There are ways to keep my body alive without my spirit._

“A body cannot give birth without the presence of the mother's spirit. As for the means for forbidding your death, there are means to ensure that your spirit remains insitu. For example, Lord Namo's cooperation and your constant supervision.”

_Knowing this only makes me feel more trapped. What awaits me, then, after the birth? Is it truly to only be more of this? To be isolated, ignored, impregnated, and hated by all who encounter me until the end of Arda? Madness, then, is all that awaits me. You saw my recollections; you know what happens to me when I am confined for years in darkness and silence.”_

_Eönwë removed his hands and replaced the coverlets. “Madness indeed, if what you say is what truly awaits you after the birth.”_

_Lindir looked back at him. “Is that what truly awaits me?”_

_Eönwë did not respond and as Lindir watched the Maia fade away, he wondered if Eönwë truly did not know or if he was simply withholding the information._

__

~*~

On arriving in Ingwë's halls via the portals that connected the halls to the summit, Glorfindel immediately sought out the nearest servant who might be able to direct him to Ingwë's location. At the door of a nearby garden designed for airing out clothes, he met a maid tasked with hanging out laundry and after holding open the doors for her so that she might more easily wheel out her linen basket, he asked the grateful maiden of the King's whereabouts and the quickest way there.

Shortly afterwards, he reached the door to Ingwe's private study and without knocking, let himself into the chamber. The diminutive King and another, taller, golden haired elf stood poring over a large map of Elvenhome that covered most of his desk and fell off the side at the edges. No sooner had Glorfindel stepped into the room, however, than both elves at the desk noticed that they were not alone and looked at him.

Glorfindel observed the unknown golden-haired elf curiously. He looked familiar, very familiar, although Glorfindel could not for the life of him recall where he had seen him before now. The elf's facial features and noble dress indicated that he was a close relative. However, although he shot a surprisingly warm smile at Glorfindel that partially answered Glorfindel's uncertainty regarding whether or not they had met before, the elf did not introduce himself before leaning towards Ingwë, advising the King that he would wait in the next room, and swiftly leaving the room.

Ingwë looked at him attentively, though his face looked wearied, as if he anticipated another heated and hurtful exchange between them. “How may I help you, Glorfindel?”

Briefly, Glorfindel considered asking about the identity of the strange elf. Then he shoved the thought to the corner of his mind. He had no idea of how long he had in private with the King; this was no time to allow himself to be distraction.

“I seek help, help that you may or may not be able to provide to me. But first I have a tale that I would have you hear,” Glorfindel said. “It concerns myself and my spouse and travesties committed by the Ainur to my spouse and the citizens of Elvenhome” He nodded at the armchairs by the window. “May I sit?”

Ingwë nodded, his face gravening. “Aye. Tell me everything.”

~*~

Glorfindel had left the bathroom, but he still looked busy. Lindir stood at the door to the elf's study and silently observed the elf lord flicking through a batch of papers in a leather folder of Fornost make. He hesitated, lowered his eyes, wondered whether he should put off this talk for yet another day, looked back at Glorfindel and the furrow in the elf's brow, then lowered his eyes again.

“Is something the matter?” Glorfindel asked suddenly, his voice faintly amused.

Lindir looked back at him and saw that Glorfindel was watching him with a slight smile on his face. “Uh... may I discuss something with you?”

“Of course. Come here.” Glorfindel beckoned him with a wave of his fingers and Lindir came over and perched on the corner of the desk beside him. He glanced at the documents and saw that they concerned patrols of the ruined lands of Carn Dum and the surrounding moors.

He felt a hand rest on his thigh and he looked back at Glorfindel His spouse looked at him enquiringly. “Well?”

“Laiglas' application to continue his academic studies after his majority was turned down by the council this morning,” Lindir said. “As his adoptive guardian, I know that you did not take part in considering his application with the council, but I was wondering if you could help me to understand why he was turned down.”

Glorfindel's face clouded. “I am afraid, Lindir, that I know little more than you about the reasons why Laiglas' application was refused.” Then he looked back at his paperwork. His hand slid away from Lindir's leg.

Lindir watched him resume reading and his brow knitted. Why did he feel as if he had suddenly encountered a stone wall? “Laiglas' academic achievements are consistently outstanding,” he said then. “Should I tell Laiglas to make an appointment with Elrond to challenge the ruling?”

“Certainly, if he wishes to pursue the matter,” Glorfindel said, glancing sidelong at him for a few moments, then returning his gaze to his papers.

“Aye. At the very least, Elrond should be able to provide him with the reasons why the council decided to turn down his application for further study.”

“I agree.”

Lindir watched him read for a bit longer and his frown deepened. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Is it because he is a former thrall?”

“I do not know, Lindir.”

Lindir watched him for a few moments longer, then leaned forward and kissed Glorfindel's brow. “I will see you later,” he said as he slid from the desk. He turned and left the room in search of Laiglas.

~*~

Ingwë was silent for a while after Glorfindel had finished his tale. Glorfindel had already realised, during the telling, that although Ingwë had known naught of Melkor's and Manwë's concerns as they regarded Lindir, the King was not at all new to tales of corruption of the Valar and already knew that the tale of Melkor being cast into the Void was an untruth.

Finally, Ingwë stirred. “What help do you seek from me, Glorfindel?”

“I desire Lindir's freedom, freedom at least to be able to choose to return to Elvenhome and live amongst his kin,” Glorfindel said. “I came here in hope that I might be able to obtain a means to persuade Manwë to give Lindir that freedom.”

“The only ones who may persuade Manwë are the other Valar,” Ingwë said. “My powers, as they concern the Ainur, are limited at best.”

“Then how might I obtain an audience with one of the other Valar?”

“That depends on to whom you wish to speak. Irmo, Este and Orome are quick to oblige our kindred with an audience, but their ability to sway Manwë and the other Valar is also limited. The other Valar are less easy to meet in person and some, such as Nienna, Ulmo, and Manwë will never oblige you with an audience, sometimes not even with their heralds unless the purpose of the meeting be in their own interests. Choose wisely; an incorrect choice could be costly in terms of time and perhaps in other currency, for both of us.”

Glorfindel opened his mouth, intending to venture the name of Varda, Elbereth, Manwë's Queen. But then he looked at Ingwë and saw the lines of care on the diminutive King's face with new eyes. Here was an elf who had lived amongst the Ainur for most of his life and who had made his halls beside Varda's residence; surely, Ingwë would make the better choice. “Who would you choose?”

“I would seek the assistance of Lord Aulë.”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. “Why?”

“He is not charismatic or eloquent in speech and he may be named coarse and contemptuous of most of our kind, but he is beloved amongst the Valar because of his dedication to his work, great skill, and determination. He is also not one of the judges and so is removed somewhat from the proceedings of the trial and any public constraints that that position might have otherwise placed upon him. Should he be persuaded to set his mind to the task of freeing Lindir, I believe he would be a formidable ally.”

“As I recall, Aulë is the Vala who first created children of his own – the dwarves – whom I have been told he resembles greatly in appearance and nature. His lady, Yavanna, followed suit with the creation of the Ents. He also, despite his employment of former thralls, raised Curunir and Sauron. Granted, perhaps, of the Valar, he would best understand my predicament, but would he not also understand Manwë's desire for a child?”

“Certainly, he will understand Manwë's desire to have a child, perhaps even envy that ability, however cruel the means, and perhaps he is already involved in the monitoring of Lindir's condition. But will he understand Manwë's cruel intention to keep Lindir forever confined and separated from his family after the birth? According to legend, Aulë was prepared to destroy the Dwarves when Ilúvatar confronted him about his disobedience. As I said, you do not have to choose Aulë, but he is the most powerful of those to whom you could turn for assistance.”

Glorfindel nodded, still unsure.

“Why not Elbereth?” he ventured then.

“As I understand it, Elbereth, though she may assist with small kindnesses, such as insisting that Manwë employ Elrond and Faramir to care for Lindir, as she has done, she will not move directly and forcefully against Manwë. They are husband and wife.”

“If I were to choose Aulë, how would I gain an audience with him?”

“As soon as this conversation ends, I will send a herald before you to Lord Aulë's quarters on the summit. Go there this afternoon after lunch. The herald will find you at lunch to confirm the arrangements.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

Ingwë nodded silently. “You realise of course that even should you succeed, it is unlikely that Lindir will be able to live openly in Elvenhome ever again. His reputation has been ruined as a result of the trial.”

“I know that new living arrangements will have to be made for him.”

“And for yourself, assuming you intend to live with him.”

“I do not.”

Ingwë's brow creased. “You intend to live separate lives?”

“Aye. I intend to separate from him after this is over and annul our union,” Glorfindel said. He watched Ingwë nod gravely and suddenly felt a rush of bitterness. Of course, Ingwë would approve of such a move. Briefly, he felt like remarking on the fact and for a few uncomfortable moments he tasted the spite of the comment on his tongue.

Then Ingwë said something that made him bite it back. “Whatever be your eventual decision, I hope that it be the one that brings you the most happiness.”

He said it so directly, with such sincerity in his expression, that for a moment Glorfindel just stared at him. “Th-thank you.”

Ingwë smiled slightly.

Awkwardly, flustered, Glorfindel cast about for a different subject and his mind settled once again on the mystery of the identity of the strange golden-haired elf who he had seen when he had entered the room. The elf had been waiting next door for some time now. “Who was the elf who was with you when I arrived?”

“That is Ingil, the crown prince and your oldest uncle.”

Glorfindel nodded, feeling slightly chagrined for not having recognised the elf even though he was certain that he had never before had an opportunity to meet him. Prince Ingil, after all, dwelt on Tol Eressea, where he ruled the City of Koromas with his wife, Wilwarin. The pair had no children. “He smiled at me as if we had met before. Have we?”

“You have indeed. When Inglor and Gilraen separated, Ingil travelled to Tirion to take care of the marriage annulment. He wished to take you both to Tol Eressea to live with him and Wilwarin, or to bring you both here, but Inglor ruled against the motion and had you sent to the boarding house instead. That reminds me...” Ingwë suddenly rose from his chair and walked over to his desk. He took a ring of keys out of a jeweled case in one of the drawers. “These are the keys to Inglor's and Gilraen's mansion, the one in which you grew up. Neither Inglor nor Gilraen wish to dwell in it. It is yours if you wish it.”

Glorfindel nodded. Ingwë smiled and returned to his side to hand them to him. “It has not been lived in since you were a child,” he said. “The gardens are greatly overgrown, but Ingil had the furniture covered and the windows and doors sealed so the interior should be as you remember it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Glorfindel carefully tucked the key away in a front pocket of his tunic. “I wonder, as we are speaking of my parents, if you would shed some light on the question of why Inglor was so reluctant to see me when I was a child after he had left Gilraen and I, yet why he was so determined that I be educated at the court at Tirion – so close to him.”

Ingwë exhaled. “As I understand it, Gilraen asked him to stay away from both of you and he agreed to do so. As for his reason for having you educated at the court at Tirion, at that time, that court was irrefutably superior in the quality of the education that it provided to its wards than all others in Elvenhome. Unfortunately, I can tell you no more for neither Inglor nor Gilraen have been forthcoming with their reasons for the separation with me.”

Glorfindel's face clouded as he considered the answer to his first question. “So he was honouring my mother's wishes by staying away from us?”

Ingwë nodded slightly. “Aye.” The King turned his head and looked towards the wall – and the room next door. “It is almost noon; I think we have kept Ingil waiting long enough. Perhaps you would be happy to breakfast with Ingil and I tomorrow in the eastern breakfast room? Like you and your father, he also remains somewhat aloof from the rest of the family so perhaps you will be the exception to his rule to never breakfast with relatives.”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. He was most intrigued by the revelation that Ingwë considered Ingil and Inglor somewhat estranged from the House. “I would be delighted to join the both of you,” he stated. He smiled at Ingwë – what felt like his first genuine smile towards the elf, inclined his head, and rose. “Thank you for your assistance. I know that you are short for time so I will leave you now and find Ingil and send him back to you.”

“Thank you.”

Glorfindel left the room and went to the parlour next door. He found Ingil there, standing at the open window with his back to the door. His hands were clasped together behind his back and he was listening to the animated chatter of one of the maids who was sweeping up linden blossoms that had blown in through the window. The crown prince turned and smiled warmly at him when Glorfindel entered the room. The maid fell silent.

“You look happier,” Ingil observed. “Did Ingwë send you to find me?”

“Nay, I sent myself. I apologise that I did not recognise you earlier; Ingwë told me about how you came to assist Gilraen and I after Inglor left us.”

Ingil chuckled and waved away the apology with a hand. “Your lack of recognition does not surprise me. I usually visited after your bedtime.” He sombered then. “Now, I came to Taniquetil out of curiosity regarding the trial and to lend my support to Ingwë as he caters towards the needs of those who pass through this kingdom on their way to and from the trial – an immense task as I am sure you can appreciate. However, I have also heard that you may also require support. Please tell me if there is anything that I may do to assist you. At the very least, I would like to spend some time alone with you to get to know you better.”

“I would like to do that too. Perhaps we could speak more on it tomorrow at breakfast with Ingwë?”

Ingil smiled. “So he changed it to a threesome, then. Excellent. I shall see you there.” And with a quick, curt nod, and a smile at the maid, he passed Glorfindel, left the room, and Glorfindel heard him return to Ingwë's study.

~*~

Despite Lindir's advice, Laiglas did not make an appointment with Elrond to pursue the ruling against his application to continue with his academic studies after his majority and completion of his standard education. Instead, during the last months before his graduation and majority, Laiglas applied for apprenticeships. It was to be the start of a career of constantly changing trades, none of them ever seeming to capture Laiglas' heart and mind.

Initially, it worried Lindir. Then, he realised that he was worrying needlessly for an elfling who was no longer an elfling, but an elf who was brighter, smarter, and not at all in need of guidance or assistance with his life. Laiglas knew how to work and how to obtain work. It was inspiration he needed, something that, over time, Lindir increasingly doubted Imladris could ever give him.

~*~

“You are awake,” was the first thing Elrond said when he arrived back in Lindir's chambers. “When did you wake up?” His face was pale and drawn with worry.

“The drowsiness was induced by Eönwë,” Lindir told him. “He woke me shortly after you left, or so he told me.”

“I am sorry, Lindir,” the half-elf said as he came over to the bed. He sat down on the side of it and looked intently at him. “I am sorry for leaving you alone with him. Are you unhurt?”

“I am well. Eönwë only examined my abdomen and advised me that he has taken measures to stop me from killing myself.”

Elrond's brow knitted. “You have been entertaining such thoughts?”

“Aye.”

“Did you have a plan? A means to end your life?”

Lindir turned his head and nodded at the window. “I had intended to jump out.”

“When?”

“After the birth. Or before... it was just an idea,” he told the half-elf's piercing gaze. “By the way,” he said then, changing the subject, “why did the Council of Imladris turn down Laiglas' application to continue his academic education after completing his standard education?”

Elrond blinked. He looked pensively at Lindir. “As I recall, none of the scholars were willing to tutor Laiglas.”

“Was it because he is a former thrall?”

“Partly. It was also partly to do with claimed personality differences between him and many, as I recall, of the tutors.”

Lindir nodded. That made sense; he had rarely seen Laiglas' behaviour in class as an elfling, but from what he had overheard on occasion and even been confronted with by a couple of Laiglas' teachers, his eldest had had, and still had a tendency towards discomforting and challenging others. “Tell me,” he said, changing the subject again, “as one with Maian blood, do you understand the silent language of the Ainur any better than I?”

“Nay,” Elrond replied, and shook his head. “I catch glimpses of their world, but I was not raised as one of them and do not share their ways. Theirs is an old culture, older than Arda, born not to multiply and welcome new members, but to age, adapt, and to rule – or faciliate – depending on how you view their role on Arda. Or at least, so I have been led to believe from the old tales.”

“Your knowledge is only as true as the tales themselves.”

Elrond smiled. “I wonder sometimes by how much the tales that I know differ from the ones that are woven by Lady Vaire into the tapestries that adorn the walls of Mandos.” He exhaled. “I should ask Glorfindel that question... and that reminds me – I apologise, I should have told you this as soon as I returned... Glorfindel has returned to Mount Taniquetil.”

“Returned? For what reason has he returned?”

“He has returned for you and in the company of your brother, Estel, and two former thralls who claim to have met you – Iestir and Halmir.”

Lindir tensed as his mind recalled, unbidden, what Eönwë had shown him of Iestir's memories the previous night. He must have paled because Elrond touched his hand and spoke his name gently. “Lindir?”

“I am fine. Eönwë...” Lindir broke off and shook his head. “What do you mean by saying that Glorfindel has returned for me?”

“I mean that he and Estel are seeking a means to release you from this prison.” Elrond smiled at Lindir's bewildered stare. “It would seem that although your spouse left the summit, he did not let you leave his thoughts.”

“So... it would seem,” Lindir echoed numbly.

Chapter 51 – Meeting Aulë

After lunching in Ingwë's kitchens, Glorfindel was on the way to the portal to the summit when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

“Father!”

He halted and turned back to observe Glingal, his youngest, approaching down the corridor.

“Glingal,” he greeted as his son drew within a few feet of him. He observed the puzzled expression on the younger elf's face curiously. “I have not heard from you these past few months. How are you?”

Glingal's brow knitted. “I could say the same of you,” he replied, a little curtly. “What are you doing here? Are you available to lunch with me?”

“I had a meeting with Ingwë earlier. As for lunch, I am sorry, but I have already eaten so I must decline.”

“Then have you a moment to talk with me?”

Glorfindel's frown deepened. “Could we delay it until after I return from the summit? Lord Aulë has granted me an audience and I must not be delayed.”

Glingal's eyes widened. “Oh. I understand. Well, are you able to sup with me tonight?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Of course. Where?”

“In the courtyard beside my rooms; they have not changed.”

“Very well. I shall meet you there tonight,” Glorfindel agreed. He turned to leave, but Glingal called him back.

“Do you of Gloredhel's whereabouts?”

Glorfindel looked back at him. “You have not spoken to him?” he asked quizzically.

Glingal shook his head and looked awkward. “Nay, not since the start of the trial.”

“Why not?”

“Because... because...” Glingal's gaze slid away, “...because of Lindir.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly. “I understand your position.” He smiled faintly when Glingal looked back at him in surprise and relief. “This is a difficult house to live in if your values differ from those of the hosts. We will speak more on this tonight. As for Gloredhel, he is currently in Tirion with Lindo. Farewell, Glingal.”

“Good luck, Father.”

“Thank you.”

~*~

The test subjects in Dol Guldur were little different from the ones in Barad-dur. The only differences were that they, almost without exception, were wood-elven and younger than him. Lindir did not care about them. To him, they were all faces to whom he did not wish to become attached, faces that would soon be scarred beyond all recognition, faces that would soon be replaced with new ones. They were all faces to whom he would perform nameless cruelties, to whose cries of suffering he would deaden his ears. If he listened, for even a moment, he knew he would inject just that extra quantity of poison, cut that knife just that little bit deeper...

He hated them, he hated them almost as much as he hated himself. What was he doing here? Why was he doing the same things? Day after day? Following orders? For whom? For what? Who was Sauron, the tall, dark cloaked lord that saw him so rarely now, whose face he never now saw, whose hands he never now felt free of their cold metal encasements.

His memories of Eregion, of Lindon, of love and loss, of wars and frivolity, seemed far removed from the black stone corridors of routine and sickness. Had anything that still lingered in his memory actually happened? Had he grown up in Lindon? Or did that history belong to one of the test subjects? Had he loved Annatar? Who was Annatar? His mind no longer seemed to know fact from fiction, reality from dream. Something had happened to it in those years of madness, of silence and loneliness, of starvation and fear, forgotten, alone, caged in that cell with himself.

He neither cared about Sauron nor about himself. Death and darkness stared back at him every shift. He almost envied the elves who did die. He wanted to leave too.

His slaying of two elves prompted Sauron to remove him from his station after only a few series of shifts on the wards of Dol Guldur. Lindir found himself confined again, but he realised then that he preferred the cell to the wards. In the cell, he had only himself to haunt and hurt.

His thoughts changed as quickly as the shape of water. Some days, he thought he loved Sauron and remembered all the good memories – or were they dreams? – with such blissful clarity. Then, on other days, he remembered only the hate and the hurt, of floors covered in blood and grimaces of pain frozen into the faces of corpses, of a golden haired elf in a hateful mask of torture whose name he barely remembered.

If that madness was what awaited him after the birth, what did he have to lose by attempting to take his own life? There was nothing good about such isolation, such rejection and hopelessness. Death was preferably, undeniably preferable. The only thing that had sustained him then was his bond to Sauron, his love of Sauron... and the timing of each release. But what bond could sustain him in this purgatory?

“Elrond.” He looked across the room to where the half-elf was eating lunch at the table.

Elrond looked attentively at him. “Aye?”

“I do not wish to be isolated after the birth.”

“I understand. That is why myself and others are working constantly to obtain your freedom.”

Lindir nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “But Elrond, if you do not succeed, understand that I would rather die than be confined again.”

Elrond's face clouded. “Lindir, what are you asking of me?”

“I would that you not hinder me if I try to kill myself.”

Elrond did not respond immediately, but Lindir saw, in that brief moment before the trained mask of neutrality closed down the healer's face, a flicker of frustration in the half-elf's eyes. “As I recall,” Elrond replied quietly, “Eönwë advised you that such a path was closed to you.”

“Eönwë may have lied.”

“True,” Elrond acceded, still gazing at him levelly. “As for your request, I would know more of what awaits you after the birth before making my decision.”

So the half-elf was at least willing to consider it? Lindir nodded. “Thank you.”

~*~

Glorfindel discovered, soon after reaching the doorstep of the halls allocated to Lord Aulë on the summit of Taniquetil that afternoon, that, despite Ingwë's herald's reassurance that Aulë knew of his approach, the Vala was apparently not ready to receive him. The squat dwarf clad in black who answered the door to him, shook his long black beard on hearing Glorfindel's enquiry, showering Glorfindel's boots and the doorstep on which Glorfindel stood with a fine dusting of snow crystals as he did so.

“I, Blackbeard, took the letter from Ingwë's messenger and sent the lad on his way,” the dwarf told him with a scowl. “As I explained to the other elf, Lord Aulë is too busy to make time for an audience with anyone, prince of elves or commoner.”

Glorfindel gazed at him in deep dislike. “I was told otherwise by the messenger. If Aulë is indeed unable to see me, then I request an audience with his herald,” he declared. “I am not content to leave a message with any lesser servants.”

Blackbeard glared and opened the door to admit him, presenting Glorfindel with a view of the vast crystal corridor that lay beyond, their depths imbued with the many coloured hues of the rainbow and set about with many heavy golden lamps. “I will show you to Whitebeard,” he grumbled as he turned and stumped away, his black boots leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him on the crystal floor.

Glorfindel followed the dwarf down the passageway, past the different coloured walls and the dancing flames of the lamps. Near the end of the corridor, the black bearded dwarf knocked on a door in the wall. On hearing a quiet, gruff voice admit them from within, the black bearded dwarf opened the door and gestured with a stumpy hand for Glorfindel to venture forth into the library that lay beyond.

There was another dwarf sitting at a vast table in the middle of the room, his wrinkled hands clasped together before him on a piece of parchment on the tabletop. He was clad in white and his face was weary. Behind his chair stood a mural, like to the one that Glorfindel had seen in Lord Manwë's halls of Lindir's cell. However, this one was different in that the painted red flames that leapt up high and bright in the cavernous smitheries painted in the mural continued to dance and lick at the stone bridges that wove across them as Glorfindel looked on. Was it a portal? A portal to the audience that he sought with Aulë? He looked at Whitebeard, for the ancient dwarf, with his snowy beard so long that it draped across the length of the table and touched the floor on the other side, could have no other name, and repeated the request that he had made to Blackbeard.

“King Ingwë sent a messenger before me. I seek an audience with Lord Aulë.”

Whitebeard's wrinkled brow wrinkled further. “And, elf prince, what be your reason for this audience? Lord Aulë is too tested for time to trouble with the tales of the Firstborn.”

“Is Lord Aulë also too tested for time to care for the tales of his own kind?”

Whitebeard snorted and smiled at him. “Even were you a prince of storytellers, Lord Aulë does not need elves to tell him stories about himself and his kind.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps so. Perhaps I could speak to him whilst he attends to his other business; if he is interested, he will listen. If not, he will close his ears and I will not complain at his deafness.”

“Tell me your story, elf. I will hear it and then decide whether to let you attempt to walk the bridge of fire.” His smile faded when Glorfindel hesitated. “You will not proceed to the bridge if you do not tell your tale to me.”

Glorfindel looked between the portal and Whitebeard's solemn expression. He hesitated, torn between protesting further and offending Whitebeard, and accepting the invitation to share his sorrowful plea with the ancient dwarf.

After a long silence, he relented. “As you wish,” he agreed. “I have a spouse. His name is Lindir. When he was a youth, in the Second Age of the Sun, on Middle-earth, he met and started to have an intimate affair with a former servant of your master, Aulë, a servant who is known only to us elves under the name of Sauron, the Abhorred.”

He fell silent when Whitebeard, the dwarf's expression attentive, held up one of his gnarled hands and silently gestured for Glorfindel to draw up a chair that stood to one side of the room to the other side of the desk. When Glorfindel had done so and had sat, the dwarf nodded at him. “Continue,” he prompted in his quiet, gruff voice.

~*~

As his career as a minstrel flourished, his sleeping patterns changed and their time together dwindled. Now, at night, it became hard to sleep until the small hours. Lindir would retire late to a bed where Glorfindel already slept and wake alone.

Attempts to reteach his body to retire early on those nights when he was not required at a practice or concert were futile. Long after Glorfindel had fallen into slumber he would lie there silently in the darkness beneath the blankets and furs and stare out the window at the moonlight and starlight that reflected off the shivering leaves of the trees of the realm. Sometimes, when Glorfindel was not turned towards him, he would watch Glorfindel, watch the even rise and fall of the sleeping elf's chest and wonder at how he had come to be bonded to such an elf and whether it would last until the end of Arda.

Now, he knew that that was not to be and keenly felt the pain of regret for not trying to get closer to Glorfindel, even if that had meant risking separation at an earlier date.

He rejected invitations to perform outside of Imladris unless he happened to be already in those other realms with Glorfindel at his side. Fame was not what he sought. He had started minstrelling as a hobby to keep his mind and hands busy as a new mother and a former thrall free at last from thraldom, but in need of distraction from the memories and the constant fear of Imladris' rejection. His songs were the songs of others – not his own. That any songs played by him were well received by the public was a boon that he had not expected and initially was unsure that he welcomed. He had intended for it to be a pastime, not a profession. Yet apparently that was not what was wished by his listeners. They wanted him to compose songs of his own, to hear more and more, to hear of his story.

Lindir obliged with the compositions and public appearances, but could not oblige with the latter request. He could not bring himself to involve more of himself, much less his family, in the attention that was being paid to him. Not everyone knew that he was a former thrall, much less a mother. Not everyone would have believed the truth and Lindir was not about to attempt to enlighten them. Perhaps he could have played some role in raising the public's regard of former thralls, perhaps he could have helped those like himself who still suffered from the stigma of that label, but at what cost? At what risk? Lindir had taken the safer route and kept his family and especially Glorfindel out of the direct gaze of his followers. He still felt that that was the best decision and had he another chance, he would have done the same.

Glorfindel degree of involvement in his success was still a mystery to Lindir. He felt sure, though he could never verify it, that Glorfindel had helped him beyond financing his initial lessons and instruments. He was certain that some of the more highly contested commissions that had fallen into his lap in Imladris had been on account of some behind the scenes wrangling on Glorfindel's part. Who could, after all, deny Lord Glorfindel? But then again, Glorfindel was not one to rattle cages by forcing his noble colleagues to pay for and listen to a poor performance – and one by his own spouse, so he could not be _that_ bad a performer.

Beyond the financial backing, Glorfindel did little else and that in and of itself was an immense support. The elf-lord neither sought to impose limits nor, beyond the occasional compliment, to impel him forward. On those days and nights when Lindir was inspired with a composition, occupied with practice or stressed about an impending performance, Glorfindel would – if not himself occupied – make himself scarce and check that the children, most of whom were grown by that time, did the same.

Did Glorfindel like his music? His bright, mirthful, sometimes nonsense ditties that toyed with structure and the music of other races? Lindir was uncertain. Certainly, the elf lord was easy to persuade to sing along and was always willing for Lindir to bounce ideas off him, but Lindir sometimes felt that Glorfindel did it only because he cared about whether or not Lindir was happy, not because he liked the music. When he had asked Glorfindel if he had a favourite type of music or song, the elf had said that he could not choose. In hindsight, he could not recall Glorfindel singing any of his songs of his own volition. But then again, the only songs that he remembered Glorfindel singing on his own were the ancient ones.

What type of music would he compose were he able to indulge in that passion again? There were no rules now, no audience to please, no secrets left hidden.

But there was also nothing left. The only emotion that he felt now was helplessness and weariness. He was just waiting now. Just waiting... for the birth, for the end of... something. He looked down at the golden band on his wedding finger. Why was he still wearing it? Why could he not bring himself to remove it? It was because he still loved Glorfindel, but why was he still clinging to the hope that Glorfindel might still love him back? Even if Glorfindel had returned to the summit, even if the elf lord was trying to release him, what were the chances that that still meant that the elf wished to share a future with him at his side? Nay, there was no chance of that. He had betrayed him; he had betrayed not only their marriage, but every tenet of the elf lord's worldview.

Nay. There was no chance of Glorfindel accepting him now.

~*~

“It is a strange and troubling tale,” Whitebeard said in his gruff voice when Glorfindel had finished speaking. “But, elf prince, why do you bring it to the halls of Aulë? How does it concern Aulë?”

“I was hoping to move Lord Aulë with my tale, as I have moved you. Your lord has influence amongst the Valar and I was hoping to plead with him to attempt to persuade Lord Manwë to release Lindir.”

Whitehead exhaled heavily and seemed to sink deep into thought. For a few moments, all was silent in the crystal library. Glorfindel swallowed and lowered his gaze to stare absently at the parchment that lay beneath Whitebeard's still clasped hands upon the tabletop.

“I will admit you through the portal,” Whitehead declared suddenly. Glorfindel looked back quickly at the ancient dwarf. “Lord Aulë will see you.”

“I thank you.” Glorfindel rose and bowed. Whitehead did not rise. He nodded slowly and gravely at Glorfindel, then picked up a pen and continued writing on the piece of parchment before him. Glorfindel walked over to the portal and touched it. Moments later, he found himself engulfed by a terrible, intolerable heat.

He was standing on one of the stone bridges that he had seen through the mirror's surface. A glance down and he wished he had not. Through the thick curls of black smoke that snorted from the cracked walls of the cavern, the molten lava that lay only a few hundred feet or so below bubbled and crackled like a boiling cauldron. There was a sudden loud crash from below and he flinched, recoiling, then recoiling again when giant flames whipped up high into the air and far above his head. On falling, they drenched parts of the lower bridges in smoking liquid that ran off the edges to slink back to the fiery depths.

How far down was he in the smitheries of Aulë's realm? He looked about, but saw no one. Onwards then, he decided, and jumped when he heard another bang and the flames leapt up again to caresses the bridges again with their boiling tendrils. Certainly, nothing good could come from staying out on the bridges; he was only prey for the volcano of this labyrinth out here.

He headed across the bridge on which he currently stood and as he reached the end, he saw through the black smoke another dwarf, a red bearded one with a short beard in contrast to Whitebeard's lone one. This dwarf was clad in red plate mail and his hands were black with toil.

“Greetings,” Glorfindel said as he approached. “I seek Lord Aulë.” Then, as he came within feet of the other and saw the deep flames in the dwarf's dark eyes, he faltered and his eyes widened in recognition.

Abruptly, he knelt. “Lord Aulë. Forgive me for this imposition and for failing to recognise you at first.”

“I will make a deal with you, Glorfindel,” the Smith said to him, his voice as dark and hard as the hammers that he used to smite Arda's depths. “I seek the service of a half-elf named Laiglas, son of Melkor and Sauron. When he enters my service, I will grant you your Lindir's freedom from Lord Manwë's. Now go.”

“Why Laig-?”

But the labyrinth had suddenly disappeared and he gasped as ice replaced the burning stone beneath his ruined shoes. He stumbled, then fell coughing to his knees in the frozen snow and covered his face with his hands, his pounding head and overheated body overtaken by the chills that now racked it.

He stayed there for a short while, long enough for him to gather his thoughts and to realise that he desperately needed a drink of water and for that he would have to return to the witness halls. He lowered his hands and observed the blackbearded dwarf standing on Aulë's doorstep ahead of him in the growing shadows of evening and watching him dispassionately, his beard well dusted with another fine shower of snow. Then, with a grunt, Glorfindel staggered to his feet and trudged off in the direction of the witness halls. He would think about his next move after he had recovered.

Chapter 52 – Supper With Glingal

Estel and Halmir were absent from the apartment that they shared in the witness halls, but on venturing into the bedroom that he shared with Iestir, Glorfindel found Gildor's son lying in his bed on his back in the dark, his hands behind his head and staring absently at the ceiling. On Glorfindel's entrance, the elf turned his head and frowned on observing him standing on the doorstep with a drinking cup in one hand and a lantern in the other.

“You look and smell as if you have rolled in the embers of a fire,” the elf stated and sat up.

“A fair observation,” Glorfindel affirmed with an amused smile. “I have just come from an audience with Lord Aulë and as you may have also read, he has placed me in a quandary.”

“No small dilemma either,” said the other elf quietly. “What ails your mind?”

Glorfindel looked down at the half-drunk water in his cup. It was his third cupful and he did not feel like downing the rest for it tasted like ash on his tongue. Perhaps the smoke from Aulë's cavern lingered on his face and lips; he had not yet looked at himself in a mirror. He looked back at Iestir and met the elf's gaze. “I sought Lord Aulë's assistance in freeing Lindir from Lord Manwë's service.”

Iestir's eyes widened.

“He agreed, but demanded that Laiglas enter his, Aulë's, service in exchange.”

“Why Laiglas?”

Glorfindel nodded at the other elf. “Indeed. Why Laiglas?”

“More than that, where is Laiglas?” Iestir said.

Glorfindel nodded again and absently took another gulp of the water, a motion that he aborted swiftly after his mouth registered yet again the taste of ash. “Well, I know where to start searching,” he said.

Iestir nodded, following his train of thought. “Do you intend to visit Linden tonight?”

“Nay. I must return to Ingwë's halls tonight. I will write to Lindo from there.”

“Shall I visit Linden?” Iestir offered then, as Glorfindel had hoped the elf would do.

“Aye, I would greatly appreciate it if you would do so.”

“I shall do so, then,” Iestir agreed. “Shall I write you her response or will I see you tomorrow?”

“The latter. Now forgive me, but I must leave and wash; I fear I am already late.” On seeing Iestir's curious expression, Glorfindel supplied, “my youngest, Glingal, has invited me to sup with him.”

Iestir smiled. “Of course.”

Once upon a time, they would have exchanged traditional blessings, wished that the Valar would watch over their missions. Now, of course, now that they knew the fallacy of the goodness behind those gazes, the idea of inviting such attention was at the very least disturbing and more of a terrifying thought. Glorfindel silently inclined his head, then left the room to pour the remaining contents of the cup down the nearest sink.

~*~

Glorfindel was awake and about when Lindir returned to their chambers after the concert to the human nobles and only a couple of hours before dawn. On opening the door and finding all the lamps lit, he blinked, disorientated slightly.

He found Glorfindel in the bedroom and sitting reading on the floor in his sleeping robe. When Lindir entered, the elf lord looked up and smiled at him. “Welcome back. How was it?”

“Are you up late or up early?” Lindir asked, ignoring the other's question.

“Neither. Or both if you prefer. I slept a little, then woke, then slept a little more, so perhaps you could say that I am up early, but because I intend to return to sleep shortly and have nothing scheduled until mid-morning, you could also say that I will be up late.”

Lindir smiled and leaned against the door jamb. “Why cannot you sleep?”

Glorfindel just smiled and spread the hand that was not holding the book. Lindir was not buying it.

“You never have trouble sleeping,” Lindir stated, folding his arms. “Not unless something is troubling you. Did you get hurt in the barracks? Did one of your students get hurt?”

“Nay.” Glorfindel looked back at the book. “Nay, it is a colleague that is hurt.”

Lindir's brow knitted. “The other minstrels mentioned that one of the nobles – Lord Neldor – was admitted to the healing rooms this afternoon, which was why he did not attend the concert. They said that he had been found in deep slumber in his room and could not be awoken.”

“Aye,” Glorfindel said. “Elrond says that his drinking, and his other – substance taking – has been increasing ever since his betrothed left him.” He shook his head slightly and his face clouded. “I do not understand why, if Elrond knew that he was hurting himself and was at risk of suiciding, he did not stop him earlier.”

“Perhaps Elrond did not know until only recently.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Aye, or Neldor ignored his attempts to help him. Unfortunately, I am inclined to believe the latter because Elrond did not look at all surprised when I brought him to the healing rooms. In either case, we have failed him.” His face clouded. “I knew that he was drinking too much; I have seen this before and should have confronted him about it, should have suspected that he might be taking something else.”

Lindir was uncertain of what to say. He did not know Neldor personally, but knew that the elf lord, like Glorfindel, was a member of the realm's council. “Have you visited him since admitting him?”

“Aye. Three times. He has not awoken, though he responds to stimuli.”

“Will he recover?”

Glorfindel hesitated. Then he said, “Perhaps. But if he does recover, what will be his condition?”

“What happened the last time you saw this happen?”

“Oh, she awoke, but she never completely recovered. Although at times she seemed like she had been before the overdose, at other times she seemed like someone else entirely: she would lose her mind and become accusative and violent.” Glorfindel closed the book and exhaled heavily. “Initially she was nursed in her own home so that she could remain close to her child, but after she tried to suicide a second time, they removed her to be cared for elsewhere.”

Lindir looked at the title of the book. It was a botany book; perhaps Glorfindel was reading up on the other substances that Neldor had taken, whatever those had been. “What about her husband and child?”

“Her husband had left her, that was the reason why she began to destroy herself, or so it was said. As for her child, it was arranged for him to live elsewhere.”

Lindir lowered his eyes. There was a long silence.

“So how was the concert?” Glorfindel asked then in a brighter tone. Lindir looked back at him and observed him stand to his tall height, a faint smile on his lips.

“It went well. Everyone was well received by the audience.” Lindir smiled when Glorfindel approached and gently kissed his brow, then suddenly embraced him tightly. “Are you coming to bed?” he added when Glorfindel pulled back.

“Aye.”

~*~

Glingal was already waiting for him in the gardens nearby his rooms. To Glorfindel's slight embarrassment (he was late, as he feared, and had not managed to find time to change his clothes), his youngest's sweetheart was with Glingal and apparently, as he found out after greeting the pair and apologising profusely for his appearance, she intended to sup with them.

Thankfully, they recognised his discomfort and the maiden even apologised for intruding on their supper, which slightly raised Glorfindel's opinion of her. Only slightly. She was still a child of the House of Ingwë and raised in the bosom of the matriarch's bigotry.

Glorfindel let Glingal and his sweetheart direct the conversation. This was partly so that he might learn more about their relationship and partly because he did not wish to talk about his own affairs. The latter would inevitably bring up Lindir and he was uncertain if Glingal wished to discuss Lindir in front of his girlfriend. So instead, he listened smiling to the pair's tales of their blossoming love, and searched their words for some clue to their sympathies towards Lindir.

By the end of two hours, as the supper was drawing to a close and the couple began talking about their plans to get engaged, it occurred to Glorfindel that although they had conversed plenty about the maiden's family, mentioned Gloredhel, and even once mentioned his own childhood (merely the fact that he had been raised in Tirion), Glingal had neither mentioned Lindir nor even one of his half-siblings.

Any hope that Glingal might have kept up with any aspect of Lindir's condition at all was dashed completely when Glingal told him both that the matriarch had blessed the match and that the betrothal was to occur in ten weeks.

According to Elrond, Lindir was due to give birth in ten weeks. If Glingal had kept himself even slimly in the know of Lindir's condition, then surely the elf would have at least known about the significance of that week. And even if he had been unaware of the date, he would have shown at least some concern for his mother.

The rest of the supper slid away into a memory that Glorfindel could barely recall the following morning. He only remembered the shock of the realisation and how numb and incredulous he had felt, how betrayed and how... confused. When had the differences in their opinions about Lindir's intentions suddenly turned into this terrifying gulf? He, Glorfindel, had felt betrayed and confused at Lindir's confession at the trial. But Glingal had taken the next step and rejected not only Lindir, but his half-siblings as well.

The insult to his own dignity by caring about a blessing from the matriarch also made him angry, but that was not Glingal's fault. After all, Glorfindel had never discussed his personal relationship with the matriarch – or his own parents – with Glingal in any great detail.

At the end of the supper, after the maiden had left, Glingal looked at him. “Will you attend the engagement party?”

He was still smiling and Glorfindel realised that the elf had been too drunk with affection for the girl to notice his shock and hurt. Glorfindel's jaw tightened.

“Of course,” he said softly. “Do you intend to invite the rest of the family?”

Glingal stiffened. Ah! Now he noticed. “You mean Gloredhel? Of course I intend to invite him. That was why I asked you for his location earlier today.”

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed. Why was Glingal trying him like a interrogated goblin? “I mean Lindir.”

“You said that you understood why I cannot associate myself with him anymore.”

“Nay. I said that I understood your difficulty in associating yourself with him in this House. I did not say that I understood rejecting him. He is your mother.”

Glingal looked away. Then he looked back. Then he rose and walked a few feet to the nearest linden tree. He put his hands on his hips and stood there a few moments. Then he turned around and met his gaze, his expression tense.

“It is my decision,” he said shortly. “I have not judged you for choosing to support a traitor. Please do me the same courtesy for my decision to sever connections with him.”

Glorfindel opened his mouth to contest the labelling of Lindir as a traitor, to protest his own label as a supporter of a traitor, and to point out that such a situation could not be divided so easily. But then he recalled himself – not so long ago – a fighter who believed in good and evil, elf and orc, Manwë and Melkor, and he fell silent.

He was the one who had raised Glingal to view the world with the same narrow eyes.

He regarded the standing elf who was still gazing at him with hard, determined eyes, eyes that reminded him remarkably of the ones that looked back at Glorfindel every time he saw himself in a mirror.

Glorfindel nodded slowly and rose. “Send me the details of the location and time. I will be there,” he said quietly. “Good night, Glingal.” Then he left the garden and, still feeling numb, made his way to his old rooms.

~*~

Lindir awoke when he felt Faramir's cool fingers searching his right wrist for his pulse. He smiled drowsily at the scarred elf who smiled in response.

“How are you this night?” Faramir asked quietly. “Do you wish to talk about your conversation with Eönwë? Elrond told me that you asked him to not stop you should you attempt to suicide.”

Lindir's brow rose. “You two are more synchronised than a bonded couple.”

Faramir snorted softly. “Hardly. We merely share a common goal; that goal is you.” He glanced down at his hand upon Lindir's wrist, then back at his face. “However,” he continued, “unlike Elrond, I can give you an immediate answer to your request regarding my own response should you attempt to suicide in my presence.”

“It is nay, is it not? You will stop me.” When Faramir nodded, Lindir's smile widened. “What is your rationale?”

“My rationale is that suiciding whilst Elrond and I still care for you is to reject the hope brought to you by our very presence. We gained our stations here because there are some amongst the Ainur who believe, as we do, that your imprisonment and impregnation is unjust.”

Lindir's smile faded. There was a long silence. “Then,” he said quietly. “Then I will wait until after you are dismissed.” But even so, if those Ainur who sought his freedom had sufficient power to do so, they would have released him already. They would have done so instead of sending Elrond and Faramir to him.

Faramir looked at him pensively for a few moments. Then he said, “I hope it will not come to that end.”

“Probably, your hope will be answered,” Lindir replied flatly. “After all, Eönwë did say that measures had been taken to stop me.”

To that, Faramir had no answer.

Chapter 53

When Glorfindel arrived at the entrance to the courtyard where he was to breakfast Ingwë and Ingil, he discovered Ingil already seated at the small wooden table and drinking a cup of tea. The crown prince was leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him under the table. His long golden hair was tied loosely back. He was gazing at the contents of his teacup, a pensive expression on his face. Glorfindel noticed two small frown lines between the elf's eyebrows.

Something about the older elf's relaxed pose struck Glorfindel as odd. He could not place the source of the strangeness, however. Perhaps it was Ingil's mere presence that filled him full of a sudden inexplicable anxiety. Perhaps he had slept badly and it was all in his head. Regardless of the cause, he found himself standing there and feeling flustered and strange, suddenly unsure if he should venture out.

Then Ingil turned his head and shot him a quizzical look. The frown lines smoothed. “Are you going to eat something?” he enquired quietly.

Glorfindel stepped out, feeling remarkably like a chastised child. He pulled out the chair next to Ingil and sat down awkwardly, heavily. “Where is Ingwë?” he asked.

“He sends his apologies; he has been delayed.”

“Oh.”

“It may be just you and I this morning.” Ingil shot him an amused smile. “Two almost strangers.” He took up the basket of bread from the table and held it out to Glorfindel. “So. Do you remember anything of me at all?”

Glorfindel took one of the small loaves with a nod of thanks. “Aye and nay. I tried to recall your face last night and this morning, but I believe that my memories of your face have blended with what I remember of Inglor's face. You are similar in appearance.”

“But of course, we are siblings; you are similar in appearance to both of us.” Ingil reached for the teapot and poured him a cup of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk.”

Ingil nodded and after pouring a portion of milk into the cup, passed the vessel to him. As Glorfindel took it, he noticed the wedding ring gleaming on Ingil's right index finger and was reminded of Inglor and his own mother. After setting the cup down beside his plate, he ventured, “Ingwë mentioned that you are estranged from most of the family. Are you close to Inglor?”

Ingil shook his head. “Nay. We were close as children, but grew apart as adults.”

“Before or after Inglor left my mother?”

“Before.”

“Why did you grow apart?”

Ingil smiled faintly and was quiet a few moments. Then he said, “Do you wish to see Inglor? If you wish, I will ask him to grant you an audience. I am sure he would be happy to oblige you; you are dear to him, regardless of his distance.”

“You avoided answering my question,” Glorfindel noted.

Ingil's smile widened and the elf shrugged slightly. However, instead of responding, he just reached for his cup of tea. Glorfindel watched him sip it. Then he lowered the cup.

“We had a disagreement,” Ingil said then, simply and calmly. “Over a private matter.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I have not asked for an audience with Inglor since I was a child studying at Tirion,” he said then. “But your intuition is correct – the thought of meeting with him now has become more appealing to me of late.”

Ingil nodded and smiled. “Then I shall ask him to contact you when you are next in Tirion.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel broke the roll of bread that he had taken and started to butter it. As he chewed it, he regarded Ingil calm face. Inexplicably, he still felt strangely anxious in the elf's company. Why was it? It felt like something more than the elf's similarity in appearance to his father? He felt a nudging at the back of his mind, a niggling of a thought that lay just out of reach.

“I intend to venture to the summit tomorrow afternoon to attend the next day of the trial,” Ingil said then. “I was wondering if you would be willing to accompany me... or to meet me there; I am aware that you have accommodation near the courtroom. Regardless, I would appreciate your presence.”

“Aye, I will meet you there.” After all, he was here to support Lindir now, to free the elf from his unjust imprisonment and treatment. And even if what he saw tomorrow hurt him, even if he still could not understand his spouse's experience, he could at least continue to try.

~*~

It was the crying of the baby that woke him, but even as he awoke from the revelrie of sleep, he heard the crying cease. Lindir turned his head to observe Glorfindel sitting on a chair at the side of the private healing room bed, the newborn in his arms. He was feeding it from a bottle of milk, one of a few that Lindir had filled prior to giving birth.

Glorfindel lifted his eyes from the quieted babe and on observing Lindir's gaze, smiled warmly. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

“Well enough to return to our rooms if Elrond has decided not to immediately proceed with another attempt to sterilise me. Has he made his decision? Do you know?”

“I do not; I have not seen him since last night when he last spoke to both of us,” Glorfindel replied. “However, I heard his voice not long ago outside the door. Hold on; I will ask him.” He rose, still feeding the babe in his arms, and disappeared through the door.

Lindir waited a few moments, just staring absently at the door. Then, as the minutes passed, his attention wandered to Glorfindel's chair, which was wedged between the side of the bed and the cot. There was a tome just underneath the chair; a large piece of paper was sticking out from beneath two of the pages. Lindir reached over and dragged out the book. It was a dress-making guide, assumedly one of Linden's. She must have visited whilst he had been asleep last night or early this morning before her classes.

He opened the book to the piece of paper and smiled when he read the scrawled words written and coloured by Gloredhel's unsteady hand, “WELCOME DEAR BABY BROTHER”. The words were accompanied by a picture of Glorfindel, Lindir, Laiglas, Lindo, Linden and Gloredhel standing on the greensward beside the River Bruinen. All were smiling except for Laiglas who for some reason had been drawn with sharp teeth. Lindir chuckled. Evidently Gloredhel had observe Laiglas arguing with Glorfindel or some other. He would have to ask Gloredhel about it.

The door suddenly reopened and Lindir looked up from the drawing to watch Glorfindel and Elrond enter the room. Elrond smiled warmly at him and drew up a chair on the other side of the cot. Both lords sat.

“Glorfindel tells me that you feel well enough to be discharge back to your rooms,” Elrond said pleasantly. Lindir nodded. “To be sure, I will monitor you until the afternoon. If everything remains stable, I think we can return you to your own bed.”

“What about the sterilisation operation? Do you not wish to proceed with it?”

“Not at this time. You stated that you would prefer to feed Glingal yourself and not to employ a wetnurse. Therefore, I will delay removing your reproductive system until after Glingal has been weaned. You will specify the date.”

Lindir's brow knitted. “You intend to remove the milk glands this time, then?”

“I intend to remove everything. As you know all too well, last time, when I left the milk glands behind so that you might continue to feed Gloredhel and ejaculate during intercourse, the entire system regrew.”

Glorfindel chuckled quietly. “Aye, we know that all too well.” Lindir looked at him. The elf-lord had finished feeding Glingal and was wiping the corners of the babe's mouth with the edge of the swaddling cloth.

Lindir looked back at Elrond. “What do you mean by everything?”

“I mean that I will remove everything that is part of your internal reproductive system except for, I hope, what I can salvage of your original testes so that you maintain your hormone levels. I will also endeavour not disturb the original nerve or blood supply.”

“Will he still have a sex drive?” Glorfindel asked then.

Elrond spread his hands. “Honestly, I do not know.”

Glorfindel nodded and looked at Lindir. “What do you want to do, Lindir?”

“I want the surgery,” Lindir said without hesitation. They had already had this discussion at Gloredhel's birth, after all.

“Very well,” Elrond said. “We will talk more about it when Glingal is about to be weaned.”

~*~

On investigation that morning after waking, Lindir found that the windows of his quarters in Manwë's halls had been sealed shut. He turned around from trying the last windows – one of those in the bedroom – and met Elrond's gaze. The half-elf was sitting at the table on which lay the remains of Elrond's meal and Lindir's untouched one, and observing him over the top of a bunch of papers.

“The windows are sealed,” Lindir stated.

“I know; I tried them last night whilst you were in the bathroom,” Elrond said quietly. He put down the papers. “How are you today?”

“The same as yesterday.”

“Did you dream at all?”

Lindir nodded and walked over to sit across from the half-elf at the table. “Aye.” He took the cover off his plate and gazed at the revealed bowl of milky porridge and chopped up pear. After a few moments, he picked up his spoon and began fishing out the pieces of pear.

“What sort of dreams? Dreams of the future?”

Lindir shook his head. “Past,” he said. “I thought about Glingal's birth and how, afterwards, you decided to delay trying to remove the creature until after he had been weaned.” He chewed on his first mouthful of pear, then, finding the taste welcome, turned his attention to trying the porridge with it. After swallowing his first spoonful of the porridge, he looked at Elrond and observed that the half-elf's gaze had shifted back to the papers lying on the table. Lindir looked at the papers and noticed that they regarded other thralls. “Do the Ainur still search for a cure to male pregnancy?” he asked.

Elrond looked back at him. “From what I have heard, that investigation has been postponed; seemingly, you were the only test subject available to them.”

“There must be other infected elves that they could use... though I hope that they would treat them better than I was treated. What of Faramir's experiments?”

“There are other infected elves who are willing to be experimented on, but they prefer Faramir's methods to those of the Ainur's. It is understandable: he is the chief healer in their community; they trust him more than the Ainur.”

“But surely, the Ainur, with their vast knowledge, would arrive more swiftly at a cure than Faramir?”

“True, it is probable that the Ainur would work more efficiently and accurately than Faramir by virtue of their nature. I would prefer it myself if the investigations were conducted by the Ainur and not conducted at all by Faramir. As I may have already expressed to you, I disagree with his experimental methods. That is largely why initially I was displeased to find myself working with him on your case.”

“Why do you disagree with his methods?”

“He takes risks with his test subjects that I find... unethical,” Elrond said. Lindir read from the half-elf's gravening expression that Elrond could have used a far stronger word to describe how he felt regarding Faramir's research methods. He nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner and was rewarded when Elrond hesitated, then continued, “I know of former volunteers to his work who have died and others who continue to suffer from additional complaints gained as a result of his meddling with their bodies. A healer's experiments should never cause ill or cost lives; it is an unforgiveable act for one of our number, our profession, to commit.”

“If he has broken such a code amongst elven healers, how it is that he is still regarded as one?”

Elrond smiled tightly. “He should not still hold the title. On hearing from some of the witnesses of his more disreputable practices, I wrote immediately to the Healers' Guild in Tirion. His skills will be missed, certainly, amongst the former thrall community, but I feel that there are enough healers there, most of them his own sons, who could replace him as their chief healer.”

“Does Faramir know that you have complained about his malpractices to the Guild?”

“He knows. I told him that he was in breach of our code the same day I confirmed that volunteers had died whilst participating in his experiments. That was a few weeks after I arrived on the summit and began engaging with witnesses and learning of him and his misdeeds.”

“What was his response?”

Elrond shook his head. “You know him. He is ordered chaos. Just as he worked to lengthen the torment of thralls by preventing their deaths in Barad-dur, he attempts now to cure a disease with death.” He spread his hands. “He is far from evil – most of his deeds are good – so I can only call him mad.”

Lindir smiled as he thought of Faramir and recalled the scarred elf's odd manner, from his refusal to participate in Halmir's second mass escape attempt to the keeping of his scars. He recalled Faramir's blunt refusal to assist him suicide the previous evening. “Still,” he commented, “I think he is admirable for devoting so much of himself to the search of a cure to male pregnancy.”

Elrond was silent for a few moments. Then, a grudging murmur of agreement exited the half-elf's lips. Lindir's smile widened.

Chapter 54 – Arguing with Halmir

Glorfindel returned to the summit just as the late morning sun was beginning to melt the snow upon the ground. At another time, he might have tarried to observe the green grass and bright flowers emerging from the melt, but his thoughts lay with the task that he had entrusted to Iestir. What had been Linden's response to Lord Aulë's request? Despite her having told Glorfindel that she had not recently heard from Laiglas, Glorfindel wondered if she still might know of some way to reach him. After all, they were siblings, they were quarter-Maian, quarter-Vala... Ilúvatar, how had they hidden their heritage from him, from everyone, for so long?

So hopeful was he of news that he was frustrated, therefore, upon arriving at their quarters in the witness halls, to only find Halmir present and the elf unable to tell of Iestir's whereabouts.

“I am sorry, but I do not know of his whereabouts. I myself have not seen him since yesterday morning,” the elf stated in his polite voice. He was sitting huddled at the breakfast table in a sleeping robe and dressing gown. His arms were folded in front of his chest. His golden hair hung long and loose about his shoulders. Glorfindel noticed that his colour had improved – he no longer looked ashen – and commented on it, to which Halmir smiled faintly.

“Faramir's potion,” he explained simply. Then his smile faded. “But I have noticed myself using more of it here and dreaming even with the increased amount; I see familiar faces whenever I leave these rooms and I wish I could say that I welcomed them, but they make me remember things that I wish I could forever banish from my mind. In addition, these halls, so Estel told me, have been imbued with the will of Lord Irmo. When we sleep, we are impelled to dream of the past.”

Glorfindel's brow knitted. “Do you wish to leave the summit?”

Halmir nodded.

“Do you know when the next group is due to return to the Orphanage?”

“They do not intend to leave until the end of next month, after the rest of the Barad-dur witnesses have finished given evidence,” Halmir said. “They were supposed to finish next week, but as you know, Iestir... and other late witnesses of course, have delayed the departure date.” He exhaled. “I shall just have to wait it out.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Nay, there is alternative,” he said kindly. “When I next return to Ingwë's halls, which should be tomorrow after court is dismissed for the day, I will take you with me. You will stay there until the other former thralls are due to return to the Orphanage.”

Halmir eyes widened. Then he smiled; he looked truly grateful. “Thank you.”

“Have you seen Estel at all?”

Halmir shook his head again. “Nay, I left him with Faramir yesterday. You may be interested to know that although the Ainur do not appear to be conducting their own search for a cure to the male pregnancy infection, Lord Irmo has become a benefactor of sorts to Faramir and provided him with a laboratory in which to work in Irmo's quarters upon the summit.”

Glorfindel's brow rose. Lord Irmo was assisting Faramir? What... had prompted such a move on the part of that Vala? “Is Faramir working with various of the witnesses or their children?”

“I believe so because he mentioned a test subject. From what I saw of his laboratory, it resembles closely the healing workrooms in the Orphanage. There are many creatures stored there in jars, many strange instruments, powders and potions. In a sense, it reminds me of Sauron's laboratory.” Halmir raised his hands and indicated a circle with his index fingers and thumbs. “On that level of the tower, there was a central laboratory: a round room in which were conducted the most technical of experiments.” Then his hands shifted apart and he said, “Extending out from it like the petals around the centre of a flower were six wards full of beds. Then, around the perimenter and connected by passageways were dormitories for the thralls and isolation rooms.”

“Did you live in a dormitory?”

Halmir nodded. “They were... well designed for their purpose. The dormitories were...” He smiled faintly and for a few moments his eyes grew distant as if he were distracted by some memory, “...structured so that we could socialise... and they were arguably the most clean and comfortable cells I have ever known as a former thrall. I met some remarkable elves there, elves who now mostly count amongst the Houseless. Iestir was one of those who came back. He always supported Lindir and I can understand why. Lindir always strove to do what he could to keep us comfortable: from changing the menus to accommodate us, to teaching the other caretakers our language, to always ensuring that we had adequate pain relief.” He sighed. “I know he did not wish for any of us to suffer, but yet he would continue tormenting us with Sauron's experiments.” He shook his head and sighed again. “Forgive me, Glorfindel, but your spouse... he is mad.”

There was a long silence. Then Glorfindel said, “I intend to visit the courtroom tomorrow for the next session. Will you accompany me?”

Halmir shook his head. “I am certain that Estel and Iestir will venture there, but I will not go. I have seen enough horror.”

“Then, at least venture to the doorstep with us,” Glorfindel suggested. “The walk outside will surely be a welcome relief from the gloomy memories invoked by these halls. Why not visit some of the gardens on the summit whilst the court is in session?”

Halmir smiled. “That is a inviting suggestion; I may indeed take you up on it.”

~*~

“I wish I knew why Melkor and Sauron bonded with me,” Lindir shared that afternoon, shortly after awakening from yet another slumber thanks to Elrond placing a hand upon his forehead. He felt the hand disappear and shift to his belly. “I understand their befriending me in Eregion for the purpose of accessing the post, but why did they reciprocate my love? How could they have reciprocated it and formed a bond with me without loving me?”

The hand on his abdomen stilled and Elrond looked at him thoughtfully. Then he said, quietly, “Has it occurred to you that either Melkor or Sauron – or perhaps both – may have never before been on the receiving end of the love that you showed them?”

“I have wondered about it on occasion,” Lindir admitted. “After all, neither have spent much time in fair form and beloved amongst our kind. But even so, I do not understand how they could love me. I have relived what I saw and seen some of what others have had to endure at his hands. How can they love me – in any sense of the word that I can comprehend?”

Elrond was quiet for a few moments. Then he said, “They demonstrate some knowledge of love in their ability to mock others for it.” He sighed and removed his hands from Lindir's abdomen. “I was raised to believe that such bonds are born of love, and that is what I have always observed... until I came to your case.”

Lindir swallowed.

“Mutual love is the logical answer, but that raises more questions than answers, and is the answer that I struggle to accept because it challenges my understanding of this world.”

“Yet surely the actions of Manwë and Eönwë have already challenged you?” Lindir ventured.

Elrond smiled faintly at him. “Aye, that is true.” He sighed. “Another idea to contemplate is the fact that Manwë and Melkor are twins. Based on studies of the Children of Ilúvatar, it is logical to conclude that they are not as different as legend would have us believe. In fact, it is likely that they are very similar in personality.”

“As one who has met both of them,” Lindir said, “I am inclined to believe that they are more similar than dissimilar.”

Elrond nodded. “It would be interesting to observe them interact,” he stated. “I wish I could see what conversations take place between them in Melkor's cell down there on the mountain.”

“So do I,” Lindir said. “More than that, I just wish I could see Melkor or Sauron again. Unfortunately, I know that even if I did see him, it is unlikely that he will provide an answer to the question of how it is that we managed to bond. I still do not believe that he could love me. Then again, I did not believe it at first when Glorfindel bonded to me. How is it that a renown elf lord could love me?” He exhaled. “One is taught that heroes and monsters are just people like you and I, but you never believe it until you get close to one.”

“Do you think you are close to Melkor?”

Lindir shook his head. “I do not know.”

~*~

Iestir arrived back at the apartment shortly after noon. He smiled at Glorfindel and Halmir, who still sat at the table. “Hello,” he greeted. Then he looked at Glorfindel. “I spoke to Linden and she said that she knew how to contact Laiglas and would do what her utmost to convey Lord Aulë's words to him.”

“Lord Aulë?” Halmir interceded.

Iestir looked at Glorfindel who looked at Halmir. “Lord Aulë has agreed to free Lindir should Lindir's eldest, Laiglas, enter his service in return.”

Halmir frowned. “Perhaps Faramir should be advised of this development as well. As I said earlier, he has found favour with Lord Irmo through some means; perhaps Lord Irmo may be able to assist us to locate Laiglas.”

“Oh. Linden will tell Faramir,” Iestir said. “Apparently, she is working for Elrond, but supplying Faramir – I am unsure if Elrond knows – with Elrond's notes. It is a secret, by the way, from Elrond. I only found out their association because I happened to visit Faramir and found Linden with him.”

“Why keep such a relationship secret from Elrond?” Glorfindel asked confusedly. “I am sure that Elrond would be happy to share his work with Faramir. Besides, they both care for Lindir.”

“Oh no!” Iestir said and he shook his head. “Elrond and Faramir may both care for Lindir, but they are far from friends. Faramir is...” He hesitated and seemed to be thinking of how to best phrase himself. “He is...”

Halmir finished the sentence for him. “Faramir does not abide by any known code of practice for a healer. As you know, he has devoted his life to searching for a cure for the male pregnancy infection. He is working exclusively with elves who have been traumatised and their children who – more often than not – are not full blooded elves and may even be monsters, and I am not talking about children like Erelin. I am talking about creatures that are not... could never live amongst others because they are not sentinent. They are violent animals whose first instinct is to kill. Faramir has been accused of killing some of these monsters in his experiments. He is accused of causing unnecessary trauma, but he works in an environment where everyone is traumatised. Everyone has had their lives destroyed. To elves outside of our community, of course Faramir would be viewed as reckless and cruel, but to us he is a healer who understands our needs. Indeed, he and his children are the only healers who are willing to work with us.”

“Elrond filed a complaint with the Healers' Guild at Tirion about Faramir's unethical practices,” Iestir added then. “Faramir has a couple of summons from the Guild in his laboratory. He is ignoring them, of course. In the second summons, they mention arresting him, but I do not think they will do it. An arrest will draw attention to the lack of attention given our community by the Guild. Even if the public finds us distasteful, I believe they would find the idea of their healers denying us help even more distasteful.”

Halmir and Glorfindel nodded in silent agreement. There followed a long silence.

Presently, Iestir spoke again. “I am hungry. I am going to go to the dining hall to eat; do either of you wish to join me?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I am not hungry yet,” he said. He looked at Halmir who also shook his head. Iestir looked between them, nodded, then farewelled them and left the room.

There was another long silence. Then Halmir said, “You are close to Iestir. Are you acquainted with his relatives?”

“Aye, I have known and Gildor and Guilin since I was a child in Tirion.”

Halmir nodded slowly. “He looks at you closely.”

“Iestir?”

“Aye.”

“I was very close to his father, Gildor. Possibly, I was closer to Gildor than Iestir ever was to his father.”

“You were close friends with Gildor?”

“Of a kind, aye.”

Halmir tilted his head. “Have you considered taking him to Tirion to see his father?”

“I have now,” Glorfindel stated. “What about you? Would you like to accompany me to Tirion when I eventually return to that city?” He thought back to what Iestir had shared with him about Halmir's estrangement from his wife and child, of Iestir's contemptuous snort when Glorfindel had told him what Halmir had said about his place being at the Orphanage. “Whether you come with me or not, I will endeavour to meet with your wife and daughter. I think they would welcome news of you.”

“My duty is with the Orphanage now, not with them,” Halmir said. His face had clouded.

“Is that what you want?”

“What do you mean?” There was a sudden, harder note in Halmir's voice. The elf's eyes, also, seemed to hold a sudden defensive light. “Did Estel say something to you?”

“Estel said nothing. I am merely offering you an opportunity to accompany me to Tirion, to live with me as a friend, and if they be willing, to enable you to meet your grandchildren.”

Rather than look at all pleased by the prospect of meeting his grandchildren, Halmir's face darkened further and the elf abruptly rose and left the table to disappear into his room. Glorfindel waited for a few minutes in the silence of the living area. Then he rose and left the apartment to venture down to the dining hall in search of Iestir.

~*~

The afternoon slid quickly into evening, then night. Glorfindel spent that day in the witness halls with Iestir and various other former thralls who also dwelt in the Orphanage. They told him about their reasons for choosing to contribute to the trial. Most of them said that they did it out of sense of duty to their community, out of a desire to see Sauron punished for his treatment of them, and also in order to learn more about the reasons underlying their treatment in Barad-dur and Dol Guldur. As one elf said, “He already had orcs, trolls, and other minions. Why did he need us?” None of them seemed to be aware of the identity of the sire of Lindir's children. Neither Glorfindel nor Iestir enlightened them; undoubtedly, they would find out the truth as the trial continued... assuming Lindir's evidence would be publicly presented.

When they eventually returned to the apartment, it was to the sound of Estel and Halmir arguing in their bedroom. They were shouting so it was easy to hear their words in spite of the closed bedroom door.

“No one is forcing you to stay at the Orphanage, Halmir,” Estel was saying in an angry voice as they entered the living room. “You choose to stay at the Orphanage because you are afraid of the outside world and you have let that fear cripple you.”

“I do not deny that I am afraid,” Halmir snapped. “I also do not deny that I am crippled by that fear. But Estel, I struggle daily to stay sane. Indeed, I would not be sane if it were not for Faramir. That is a fight enough for me without also trying to unlearn fear as well.”

“But Halmir, you are only suppressing the memories. Faramir's concoctions will not cure you.”

“Oh, then what do you propose? That you stop me from taking the potions? That you lock me in a padded room again? Restrain me? Strip my room and my person of anything – even combs and stockings – because I might try to harm myself with them?”

“Nay, Halmir. We have had this discussion before; I am talking about gradually reducing your daily dosage of potion.”

“Nay.”

“Halmir.” Estel's voice was tired.

“Nay.”

“Halmir!”

“I said nay. Did you not hear me the first time?”

“Halmir, I wish – I wish so much that I could give you back your family. I wish that I could give you back your friends. Most of all, I wish I could give you back your innocence, your self-respect, and your sanity. But I cannot do these things unless you want to do them to and unless you are willing to let me help you.”

Halmir was silent for a few moment. Then he snorted and said quietly, wearily, “How are you going to help me if I accept Glorfindel's offer and travel to Tirion with him?”

“He will help you. I know that you admire him, that you would like to trust him.”

“You do realise that he is listening in on this conversation?”

“I do. Think about it, Halmir.”

There was a long silence. Then, abruptly, the bedroom door opened and Estel emerged. He smiled slightly at both Glorfindel and Iestir, and quietly shut the door behind him. He looked tired.

“I am going to the kitchens to get Halmir and myself some supper,” he told them. “Did either of you want something to eat or drink?”

Glorfindel and Iestir both shook their heads and thanked him. Estel nodded and left the room.

Chapter 55 – Halmir's Story

The following morning, they left the witness halls and ventured together to the hall where the court was held. Glorfindel noticed that Halmir looked rather worse than he had the previous morning, and wondered if the elf was already beginning to cut down his dosage of potion on Estel's advice.

About twenty or so other residents of the witness halls were also heading towards the hall and when they reached the steps below the closed doors, they all clustered together at the bottom, exchanging pleasantries. Glorfindel noticed that Estel seemed to be known to all of them.

There were other groups gathered outside the courtroom doors: maiar and a few other groups of elves who appeared to be relatives of witnesses. Glorfindel suddenly noticed a golden haired elf sitting on a bench in the garden a slight distance away from the maiar, and recognised the elf as Ingil. Glorfindel smiled and excused himself from his conversation with Estel to walk over to the prince.

“Good morning,” he greeted as he neared the other elf and Ingil noticed him and rose. The prince smiled at him.

“Good morning,” he replied. “How are you this morning? Besides cold,” he added.

“I am nervous,” Glorfindel said truthfully. “The last time I came here, I left the courtroom early in order to throw up my lunch.”

“Ingwë told me that you also looked as if you were about to collapse.”

Glorfindel's brow rose. “Did he also tell you to keep an eye on me in case I feel nauseous during this court session?”

“Aye. He did. He told me sit beside you and escort you out should you at any time look unwell.”

Glorfindel snorted in amusement. Ingil smiled.

“I am sure that we shall, today, see many things that will make our stomachs churn,” Glorfindel said then, seriously. “Perhaps you will feel unwell before me.”

“Perhaps indeed,” Ingil agreed. His gaze suddenly shifted and he nodded towards the mouth of the hall. Glorfindel turned to observe the doors being opened from within to admit audience members to the entrance hall.

Just as guides had once led Ingwë and Glorfindel into the hall, now Glorfindel showed Ingil what he knew of the hall. They ascended into the vast entrance hall behind the maiar and the group that contained Estel. On seeing two gallery attendants step forward and show Estel's group through a set of doors inset in the left wall of the entrance hall, Glorfindel ventured after them.

They overtook some of the group on the white steps and caught up with Iestir, who smiled broadly when he spotted him.

“I missed you,” the elf said brightly. “I half feared one of those maiar had devoured you, but I see instead that you were distracted by a friend.” He looked at Ingil and his eyes widened slightly. He inclined his head. “It is an honour, Your Highness.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ingil responded politely. “I hope you do not mind me joining your group today.”

“Not at all,” Iestir said, still smiling. “We would be delighted to have you sit amongst us.”

A few minutes later they reached the top of the steps and wove their way through the rows of white, blue and silver stone seats until they were sitting immediately behind Estel and Halmir. Glorfindel would have preferred to have sat on the same row as the two elves, but unfortunately the other elves in their group had already filled the seats around them.

He looked at Ingil who was sitting between him and Iestir. The prince was looking at the black chasm that gaped at them from the ceiling of the hall, and which was reflected in the water on the floor, with an expression of undisguised wonder. Glorfindel followed his gaze to the fissure, that huge rent in the fabric of the world, that terrifying void of blackness beyond which Ilúvatar dwelled, beyond which the Ainur had been born. Ingwë had told him that this was where Manwë spoke with Ilúvatar.

If that were true, could it be that Ilúvatar could also see the proceedings of the trial? If that were the case, why had Ilúvatar not interfered?

Glorfindel noticed that beside the thrones of the judges, there was only one raised area containing a chair on the floor and surrounded by rails, not two as there had been when he had last come to the hall. As each of the judges of the Valar slowly began to materialise upon the thrones, he watched the lone chair. Was its occupant a witness or the defendant?

He did not have to wait long. The tall slender man who materialised had not changed in his appearance or black garb since the last time Glorfindel had looked upon him. His hair was still long and black, his eyes were still grey.

Beside him, Ingil leaned closer. “Is that Morgoth?” the elf whispered in his ear. Glorfindel nodded.

“Morgoth in Sauron's guise.”

Eönwë suddenly appeared before the thrones. The tall maia was standing on the floor and wearing a white and blue robe. About his white-clad feet, ripples slowly extended outwards across the water every time he moved. He bowed to the judges, then straightened, a neutral expression on his face, and spoke in a calm, magnified voice that echoed about the hall.

“Court is resumed. Although, according to schedule, we are today supposed to shift the focus of the trial to events at Dol Guldur, since the last session, several new significant memories from former thralls of Barad-dur have been contributed to this trial, which we will display to you shortly. Following these, we will shift the focus to Dol Guldur.”

On the other side from Ingil, Glorfindel saw, in the periphery of his vision, Iestir stiffen.

“The witness who showed us the following memories is Halmir, son of Haldur,” Eönwë said then and turned away from the judges to indicate the white smooth wall that was not disturbed by the galleries full of onlookers.

The wall suddenly lit up with a moving image, just as it had done when Lindir had recalled for the court the fall of Eregion. Only this time, the image was not a slow and steady scan of a stable full of bloodied prisoners, but a jerky vision of fields of tall, wild grass and ahead, a swiftly approaching forest.

Halmir was running and from the sound of the elf's strangled gasps, the elf was sprinting as fast as his feet would take him. At the edge of the forest, the elf turned around and scanned the horizon. There was no sign of pursuants, but even so, Halmir turned and continued jogging far into the depths of the forest.

“I was uncertain if they would follow me. I was, after all, just one prisoner. Then again, Sauron knew that I had been a captain of Lorinand and that the other elves had adopted me as their leader of sorts.”

The vision skipped ahead to the following morning. Halmir was walking through the forest when there suddenly came the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth in the distance. Halmir looked in the direction of the noise, then, when there was heard the distinctive snarl of a warg, the elf began running again.

The crashing grew louder and at last, Halmir swung himself into the boughs of one of the trees overhead. He was about half-way up the tree when the tree suddenly shook and on looking down, he saw two pairs of bright, glaring yellow eyes and salivating jaws of two wargs gazing straight back at him.

Halmir flinched back when one of the warg riders loosed an arrow after him and it grazed the trunk of the tree about a foot away from his arm. He ducked around the other side of the tree and hastily climbed higher. When he next looked down, it was to observe a party of twelve heavily armed orcs arriving at the base of the tree to join the warg riders.

“He is unarmed,” the warg riders told the captain of the orc party. “Should we keep firing until we hit him?”

“Nah, we may as well climb up and tear him down,” the captain replied. “The mines, the trek south, and the run will have weakened him. Even if he be a wood elf, he will not be able to elude us by vaulting to another tree in his condition.” He turned and nodded at two of the smaller orcs. “You two. Dump your knives here; he may steal them. Grab him and chuck him down.”

The two orcs nodded, dropped their weapons, and began nimbly climbing up the tree. Halmir climbed higher and every now and again he looked down and his breath quickened as he saw the orcs drawing nearer to him. He suddenly reached the top, but he no sooner stuck his head out then orc arrows came flying towards him from another tree. Halmir cursed loudly, then suddenly slipped. On grabbing at the nearest branch, he looked down and observed the orc hanging on his right leg. The orc smirked at him, seized onto his big toe, and wrenched it sidewards.

Halmir's vision went white. When it cleared, he was falling through the branches. He grabbed futiley at a few of them, but they eluded his grasp and he crashed to the forest floor where he was immediately seized by a warg and shaken until he blacked out.

When he came to, he was lying amongst a resting orc army. Sauron was crouched beside him in full, terrifying fighting regalia. Seemingly, it was the maia who had awoken him because the maia's gloved hand was on Halmir's forehead.

Halmir suddenly jerked away from Sauron and rolled onto his front. He immediately began coughing hard. Blood splattered from his mouth onto the earth between his bound hands. Halmir groaned loudly.

Sauron laughed coldly and rolled Halmir back onto his back. “Broken skull, broken back, broken leg... this is the second time that I have had to repair you after an escape attempt, Halmir,” he said in the Common Speech. “If there be a third occasion, I might start believing that you want to die.”

Halmir continued coughing painfully.

“Nevertheless, you are to be commended for your resistance,” the iron mask continued. “Commended with a few more broken bones.” Sauron suddenly called out to the captain of the party of orcs who had pursued Halmir into the forest. “Break him and continue the work in the pits,” he said when the captain strode over. “However,” Sauron added sharply when the captain seized Halmir and threw the elf over his shoulder, “do not kill him. I wish to use him when he is tamed.”

“Yes, Master,” the orc grunted, then turned and strode away from the resting army, hollering at a few of the other orcs to follow him. As they ventured through the undergrowth and Halmir caught sight of a nearby vast waterway, Glorfindel recognised the shore as the northern shore of the Anduin. Then Halmir was thrown down on his back and all he could see was the sky through the leaves of the trees above. Then he saw Halmir's legs being pushed up and heard the rip of Halmir's stained clothes as they were discarded. An orc climbed on top of him and Halmir shut his eyes, casting everything in blackness.

“It was like that every time the army rested,” Halmir said then, to an unknown interviewer. His polite voice echoed in the quiet hall. “I had heard that elves died if they were raped, that they faded away with grief and sorrow. I was confused, therefore, when I did not fade. They kept on violating me and all I felt was numb.”

“They took us to Barad-dur, as you probably already know from the accounts of Rana and Lindir and others. Inside, I was separated from the other elves and taken to the orc pits.”

The broad wall of the hall lit up again with another vision. Halmir stared through the wooden bars of a cage that was suspended from the roof of a room carved from black rock. The room was empty, but there was a narrow rectangular bowl of half-eaten gruel crawling with cockroaches on a table just beneath the cage. Halmir could not seem to be able to look away from the food. His bound hands clutched the bars of the cage and were frighteningly gaunt.

Suddenly, the door opened and Halmir looked away from the food to observe the orc captain through narrowed eyes.

“You look hungry, slave,” the captain stated. “Hungry enough to long for vermin-infested food, but are you hungry enough to play with yourself for me and the boys?”

“Fuck you,” Halmir hissed in the Black Speech. His voice sounded parched. “I would rather die!”

“So it would seem,” the captain stated blandly. He withdrew a small bottle from his belt and went over to the bowl of swarming roaches to pour the liquid on top of it. Then he lifted the bowl and slid it between the bars of the cage. Then he walked away.

Halmir stared at the bowl touching his naked legs for a long time. Then he reached out and dipped a finger in it. On withdrawing it, he sniffed cautiously at the end of his finger. Seemingly, it smelt edible, as Halmir suddenly began hurriedly scooping up the gruel with his fingers and gulping it down. When the bowl was empty save for a few cockroaches that Halmir had not already flicked out of the cage, Halmir ducked his head and licked at the sides of the bowl.

He was searching around the base of the bowl for bits of gruel that might have escaped his fingers and fallen to the base of the cage when the vision suddenly wavered and for a few moments, it was replaced by the sight of the interior of a warm talan. Halmir was sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He was wearing a green tunic and white breeches.

Then the glorious light-filled vision was swept away and the door opened. The orc captain had returned. Halmir shook his head as the vision of the talan passed across his vision yet again, and the orc could be heard to laugh quietly.

The vision of Lorinand returned and with it, in the orc captain's place, stood a fair maiden. She laughed at Halmir and beckoned him with her long pale fingers. Glorfindel observed a golden ring on the index of her right hand and wondered if she was his wife.

Halmir rose and approached her, drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. He trailed kisses down the side of her neck.

The vision wavered again and he recoiled when he found himself no longer in the talan, but in the black cave, and running kisses down the neck of not a maiden, but the orc captain. On meeting Halmir's shocked gaze, the orc captain smirked.

Then the orc captain disappeared and was replaced again by the maiden in the room. She took his hand with a light laugh and led him into an inner room of the talan and over to the bed that lay in a corner. There, she beckoned him sit on the side, a mischievous look on her face.

“It is your turn,” she told him, and her voice was light and mirthful. “You had me show you how I amuse myself in your absence. Now show me how you play with yourself when you are alone on the borders.”

Halmir snorted. “My love, I hardly have the privacy on the borders.”

Glorfindel nodded sympathetically.

“But you must have done it at least once,” she urged him, and she ran light fingers down his chest. Halmir drew in a shaky breath.

“Aye, aye, there was one time,” he admitted. “Or maybe it was a few times.” He reached up and began undoing his tunic. He shrugged it off and tossed it onto the floor. It was followed by his shirt. Then he stood up and took off his stockings and loincloth. He kissed her once more, then sat back down and parted his legs.

He rubbed his lower abdomen, then slid his hand down to take himself in hand and begin to slowly, luxuriously stroke the growing erection, every now pausing at the end to rub his thumb over the crown and across the tip. His breathing became quick and fast, and as he continued, his hips began making little quickly aborted thrusts into his hand.

Her hand suddenly closed over his and he hissed and halted his movements. “What is it?” he panted, looking at her amused face. He slid his thumb over the dewing tip of the engorged penis.

All of a sudden, her face melted away and was yet again replaced by the smirking face of the orc captain, who was standing in front of the table beneath the cage on which Halmir sat. Halmir flinched, then looked down quickly and saw that he was still holding onto his erection. His eyes widened, and his breathing quickened. “No!” he was heard to gasp. He attempted to jerk his hand away, but the orc had his hand and kept on stroking him around it. Halmir suddenly shuddered and ejaculated into the orc's hand with a pained cry.

No sooner than the orc released him, then Halmir's thin arms whirled out and the elf struck the captain across the face. There were tears in the elf's eyes, which clouded the vision. Halmir attempted to strike the captain again, but the captain caught his arms and threw him down. The orc kicked him viciously in the ribs when Halmir attempted to rise.

“Fucking elf!” the orc snarled. “Next time I'll make you suck a warg's dick!”

“I want to stop,” Halmir said suddenly, over the memory. He sounded anguished. The vision disappeared from the wall. “I do not wish to recall anything more than what I have already told you.”

“Then describe what happened to you,” said another voice, a quieter voice that Glorfindel did not recognise. Assumedly it was the interviewer's voice.

“They used the drug again. Time and time again. They used my wife against me. The wargs tore her to pieces in my visions. They made me do things – they made me kill other elves, rape other elves... oh Valar, I cannot do this! I cannot do this!” Halmir voice was become breathless. He was hyperventilating. “Elbereth! Please. I am sorry, but I cannot do this anymore. I am sorry.”

There was a long silence. Then Eönwë stirred. “Briefly, I will show you what others remember of Halmir and we will revise his case.”

The wall lit up again and they were shown brief scenes of what Halmir had alluded to in his last choked words. One elf recalled being hacked to death by an unseeing Halmir with a red hot poker whilst orcs held the recaller down. Another saw a motionless Halmir being dragged out of the warg pits, bleeding down his legs from his bottom. Glorfindel covered his mouth with a hand.

Ingil leaned closer. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

Glorfindel nodded and lowered the hand.

The vision melted into a new one, a vision of a door being unlocked and the recaller entering the room to observe a golden haired elf lying shivering under a blanket on a stone floor. The recaller knelt down beside the emaciated form and pushed back his hair to observe the sightless mask that covered the face. The form jerked and there was a muffled cry of pain. Glorfindel, suddenly recognising the body and cell from what he had seen in the pool of light in Manwë's halls, intook his breath sharply. Oh Ilúvatar, that had been Halmir?

He stared at the tubes that extended from the nostril holes in the mask, red, brown and yellow with blood and pus and liquid food. There were holes at the nostrils from which tubes extended, lined with blood and pus. There was a gap at the mouth, and a piece of metal extended inwards. The recaller leaned down to look inside and Glorfindel observed that the metal piece held the jaw open and pressed the tongue flat against the floor of the mouth.

Across from him, Iestir cursed softly.

The recaller pushed the blanket down Halmir's body, which jerked again and began shivering more violently. Long elven fingers searched the elf's swollen belly for a few moments, then one of the recaller's hands slid down further to grasp the flaccid penis lying quiescent between the elf's thighs and begin stroking it.

Considering the elf's emaciated state, Glorfindel was surprised to observe the penis respond almost immediately to the caresses. It lengthened, swelled, and then Halmir's hips began jerking weakly into the hand. When Halmir came, the recaller collected the milk in a jar. Then, after sealing the jar, the blanket was replaced over Halmir's form.

“I will come back later with food and water, Halmir,” the recaller said quietly. Glorfindel stiffened. Oh Ilúvatar! He knew that voice. He looked at Estel, but could not see the other elf's expression. Had Estel also recognised Lindir's voice?

The vision faded and was replaced by a long room lined on either side with narrow beds of stone. Each bed was occupied by a body, most of them silent and motionless, but some shifted restlessly and turned their heads to observe the recaller, who walked amidst them and carried a tray containing a long tube, a plunger, and a small bottle full of a white fluid. Glorfindel recalled what Halmir had told him about the layout of the wards around a central laboratory.

The recaller walked over to one of the beds, which contained Halmir. The naked elf was lying on his front. He was bound with chains to the bed. This time, his abdomen was flat. The elf was awake and observed the recaller's approach with a terse expression on his gaunt face.

“Hello Halmir,” Lindir sounded tired. He set down the tray at the end of the bed and undid the top of the bottle.

“Just hello?” Halmir said in a cold voice as Lindir was drawing up the liquid. “You do not intend to undo my chains and ask me to spread my legs for you? I am insulted.”

“As I recall,” Lindir said quietly, glancing at Halmir's rear end, “the last time I attempted to get you to assume the usual position, you tried to strangle me.”

“Oh forgive me,” Halmir's voice dripped with acid. “I was unaware that I should not resist when being inseminated against my will. Perhaps I should be as docile as Iestir and groan like a dairy cow as you fondle me.”

Lindir's voice hitched. So did Iestir's across from Glorfindel. In the vision, Lindir's eyes narrowed. He attached the end of the plunger to the tube, then put it back down on the tray. Then he stepped up to Halmir's side and rested his hand lightly, deliberately on Halmir's right thigh. He slid it inwards, towards the crease between the elf's buttocks. Then, curling back all but his index and middle fingers, he slid those two fingers into the elf's entrance. Halmir's voice hitched and the elf's body tensed. Lindir slid his fingers out slightly, then quickly in again, then in and out again.

On about the sixth or seventh thrust, Halmir swallowed hard and Lindir leaned over the elf's entrance to observe that, between the elf's thighs, the elf's penis had hardened. He thrust hard inside the elf again, and snorted softly when Halmir's hips jerked involuntarily back onto his fingers.

One more thrust and then Lindir slid his hand out and wiped his fingers on Halmir's leg. “I better stop there before you start mewling like docile Iestir,” he said coldly. He retreated back to the tray at the end of the bed and picked up the plunger and connected tube, then returned to Halmir's side and deftly threaded the free and tapered end of the tube into Halmir's entrance. Then he pressed down on the end of the plunger and watched the white fluid disappear into the other elf. He waited a few moments, then withdrew the tube and tossed it onto the tray. After picking up the lot, he stalked away.

The vision was replaced by another one. This time, Iestir was the recaller. The elf sat on a bunk bed in a cell opposite another in which Halmir sat conversing with the elves that shared his cell. Halmir was telling the other elves about what he knew of the layout of the level of the tower. The elves fell silent when the door to the dormitory suddenly was unlocked and a human entered carrying a tray heavy with full jugs of water. Iestir descended his bunk to accept the new jug of water for his cell. As he watched the human, he happened to look across to Halmir and meet the other elf's gaze. Halmir smiled at him. Iestir shook his head slightly and climbed back up to his bed.

“It was a fool's errand to attempt to escape Barad-dur,” Iestir said then, over the fading vision on the wall. “Of course, he would not listen to me. That was his nature then.”

Another vision appeared, this one of Halmir giving birth and Lindir observing the crowning and birth of first one, then two babies. Halmir spat at Lindir when the elf attempted to wipe Halmir's face clean of sweat and tears.

The next vision was of an unknown elf's recollection of Halmir and his other cell mates tricking a young human caretaker into entering their cell. After knocking out the human, they took his keys and freed the other inmates. At Iestir's cell, all save Iestir slid from their cells. Glorfindel watched Iestir shake his head at Halmir from where he sat on his bunk, his expression frightened.

“Iestir, you silly cow!” one of Iestir's former cellmates hissed. “What do we have to lose? You may as well come with us!”

“Nay,” Iestir shook his head at them.

Halmir held his gaze for a few moments, then pursed his lips. “So be it,” he said. He looked across the dormitory to another elf who also had not moved from his cell. This elf's face was heavily scarred. “Faramir. I suppose your answer is still nay?”

“Correct,” Faramir replied. His brow rose. “Try and kill yourself, all of you. What lies in wait for you should you get caught will be much worse than death.”

Halmir nodded and looked fleetingly at the elves who had followed him out of their cells. He nodded again, then turned to unlock the dormitory door.

What followed then were brief, fleeting visions of the escape attempt down the rubbish chutes of the tower, and the death of most of the elves and capture of the remainder. Glorfindel pursed his lips when he saw Halmir being shoved into a group cell with the rest of the recaptured elves. The elf's face was the picture of devastation as he looked across the other recaptured elves and registered their injuries.

Then came another vision of the door to the isolation cell. It swung open and there was Halmir lying there face first in a drying pool of his own blood. His wrists were slashed. Before him, half covered in blood, lay a knife.

Chapter 56 – Iestir's Story and Lindir in Dol Guldur

There was a brief recess during which Iestir rose, a tense look on his face, and disappeared down the stairs. Estel followed him and the pair were gone for a short while. When they returned, Iestir looked more settled and the pair silently resumed their seats. When Glorfindel looked anxiously at Iestir, Iestir smiled reassuringly at him.

The court resumed session, but when Eönwë began to introduce Iestir's case to the court, Iestir abruptly stood and left the gallery again. This time, Glorfindel followed after him and found Iestir standing just out of sight at the top of the stairwell. The elf was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and watching his meeting with Annatar on the Greenway with a neutral expression on his face. When he saw Glorfindel, he smiled tightly. Then, when the vision changed and turned to his rape by Annatar's wolves, he turned away from the sight.

“I am going outside for a bit,” Iestir said then, quietly. “I will return at the next recess.”

“Shall I come with you?” Glorfindel asked.

Iestir glanced absently back at the vision of the wolves, then looked back at Glorfindel and shook his head. “Nay.” He walked down the stairs, his shoulders hunched. Glorfindel watched him until he had disappeared out of sight through the doors to the gallery, then turned and made his way back to his seat. By the time he had sat, the vision of Iestir giving Sauron oral sex had faded.

The subsequent vision was of Iestir being infected with the male pregnancy parasite in Barad-dur. The elf lay on his back on the table in the middle of the central laboratory which Halmir had described to Glorfindel the previous day. His hands were chained to the legs of the table and his legs were raised in slings.

A masked Sauron stood at the end of the table, between Iestir's spread and raised legs. In one hand, the maia held a squirming, tentacled creature, similar to those that Glorfindel had been shown by Faramir's children in the healing rooms of the Orphanage. In his other hand, the maia held Iestir's penis, which he was stroking gently to hardness. Iestir, the recaller, was breathing shakily.

Sauron released Iestir's erection and held the creature closer to Iestir's entrance. On looking down, Iestir observed the tentacles of the creature suddenly turn in the direction of his entrance and, as it drew close enough to touch his genitals, slide curiously across his erection, scrotum, and then begin probing his entrance. Iestir began panting then with what sounded like arousal. This was confirmed when Iestir's erection began stiffening further, then jerked suddenly and spat out his seed.

Iestir looked at Sauron, then down at the creature that Sauron still held in his hand. Before Iestir's eyes, Sauron grip on the creature loosened and the tentacled thing darted inwards towards Iestir's entrance whereupon it appeared to disappear completely inside in a matter of seconds. Iestir's vision suddenly turned white and red and then faded to black.

The next vision was of Lindir inseminating Iestir. Lindir was being guided in the act by Sauron. Iestir was sweating and looked frightened.

In the next vision, Sauron was operating on Iestir's scrotum. The maiar had slit the skin of the sac with an elongated fingernail and was fiddling with the right testicle, which looked swollen. Iestir's body was trembling and frequently, the elf flinched and cried out in pain as the maia handled the oval mass.

In the following vision, Iestir recalled lying with his bottom up and front down, and having his pendulous balls, which were four times their normal size, massaged by Sauron in the central laboratory. Sauron stopped once Iestir's erection was oozing droplets of milk and set a bowl underneath the elf to collect the milk. Later, when the bowl was full, Sauron returned and emptied the bowl, reset it beneath Iestir, and squeezed his scrotum, causing the elf to gasp and a stream of milk to spurt out the end of his erection and into the bowl. Sauron squeezed again and yet another stream of milk spurted out. Sauron kept on squeezing until no more milk flowed and Iestir's scrotum had shrunk to less than a quarter of its original size. Then Sauron took the bowl away and left. Iestir slept and when he next woke, his scrotum had swollen up again with milk and the tip of his penis was dripping again with the liquid. This time, it was Lindir who milked him.

Glorfindel left during the next vision, which was of Iestir feeding one newborn – presumably his own – and holding another, to hunt down the elf. On descending the stairwell and leaving the hall, he found Iestir sitting on the same bench on which Glorfindel had found Ingil before the court session. Halmir was sitting with Iestir. The pair were talking quietly between themselves. On noticing Glorfindel approach, they stopped talking and greeted him.

“Have they finished showing my recollections?” Iestir asked curiously.

Glorfindel shook his head. “Nay. I came to offer you my support, but I see that Halmir has beaten me to that task.” He smiled at Halmir. “I was under the impression that you intended to head back to our quarters at the witness halls.”

Halmir shook his head. “I decided to observe the snow melt instead,” he said. “I also suspected that they would show Iestir's memories and wondered if he would come out.”

“You seem to have disliked each other as thralls,” Glorfindel said then.

Iestir laughed. Halmir's brow rose.

“Nay, I did not dislike Halmir,” Iestir said. “However, I know I frustrated him.”  
“Indeed you caused me frequent frustration,” Halmir agreed. “You ingratiated yourself to the caretakers.”

“Yet in the end, which was the least traumatic path?”

Halmir's smile faded and the elf shrugged slightly, lowering his gaze to where his hands lay limply in his lap. Iestir watched the elf for a few moments, then, seeing that Halmir was not about to continue the thread of conversation, looked back up at Glorfindel and smiled brightly at him. Glorfindel wondered how it was that the elf could smile with such mirth when he knew that inside the court room, only a few steps away, was displaying the most crippling, the most shameful moments of his life to the public eye.

Iestir seemed to read his thoughts as the elf said, still smiling at him, “Would you prefer if I wept and cursed? Should you have given up when you saw the approach of the red night across the Echoriath, the Encircling Mountains of Gondolin and saw the great talons and jaws of Morgoth's monsters claw down the city's defences?”

“Surely, there is a difference between the two scenarios?” Glorfindel ventured, only half-challenging the other elf's argument. He had too much respect for Iestir's experience and far too little experience of his own, he felt, to even attempt to draw a comparison between the desperation of a soldier beseiged in an impossible war and the desperation of a thrall to maintain their sanity. War and thraldom were siblings; both demanded the subjugation of another.

“The debate as to who suffered more is superfluous,” Iestir said quietly. “If we intended to do nothing but grieve for our losses for the rest of our lives, Glorfindel, then neither of us would have accepted a second life. We would both number amongst the Houseless, like so many of our loved ones who have not returned. We returned because we desire to live and because we still have goals that we wish to see fulfilled, or we promised our loved ones that we would return.” He glanced here at Halmir who had stiffened slightly. Glorfindel recalled what Halmir had told him about his own reason for taking a second life.

_”As I have said before, I would not have taken a second life if I had not promised my family that I would return.”_

He looked at Iestir. “Yet you still have not reunited with your parents, one of your professed desires.”

Halmir stiffened and looked sharply at Glorfindel. “Just because we desire to live and accomplish certain deeds or fulfil promises, does not mean that we are not fragile,” he said coldly. “We are a broken lot of people; a despised, forsaken, feared, and ashamed collection of wounded soldiers, half-breeds, and mutilated members of our sex. However, despite our weaknesses, despite some or all of our original goals being confounded by powers outside of our control, none of us have stopped moving forward. Not yet and when we do, that will be when we retire to the Lands of Este or take steel to our flesh.”

Glorfindel flinched before he could help himself. To him, the memory of Halmir lying in his own blood on the floor of a Barad-dur cell was still too fresh in his mind, and to hear the elf speak of repeating the deed... He gritted his teeth.

There was a long silence. Then, suddenly, Iestir looked past Glorfindel and towards the doors of the hall.

“Oho,” the elf observed, and his smile returned. Glorfindel turned his head and followed the elf's gaze to the elves mingling at the bottom of the stairs. “It looks as if recess has arrived at last.”

Iestir rose and looked at Halmir. “So, brooding and confounded Halmir, will you accompany us back to the hall to look upon others' memories or remain here?”

“I will remain here,” Halmir said. “Come join me again whenever you wish.”

Glorfindel nodded. Iestir thanked Halmir, then slipped his arm in Glorfindel's and led the elf lord back to the hall. As they resumed their seats and waited for the recess to end, Glorfindel thoughts remained with the elf that they had left behind on a seat surrounded by melting snow.

Presently, Eönwë began to speak again. This time, he shifted the focus of the trial to southern Mirkwood, where Sauron had founded Dol Guldur in the Third Age of the Sun after his defeat at the Battle of Dagorlad.

“It has been a long time since we last heard from Lindir, son of Talagant,” the maia said in his magnified voice. “We last saw him locked in a cell in Barad-dur. He remained there in isolation whilst Sauron himself was also a prisoner of Númenor. Then, at the end of the Second Age of the Sun, when Númenor was destroyed, he returned and amassed his army in preparation to conquer Middle-earth.”

“Sauron left Lindir undisturbed until after the Battle Dagorlad had been fought and lost in the Third Age of the Sun. He fled then and took his chief servants, his tamed monsters, and favourite prisoners with him to southern Mirkwood where he began to found a fortress that is known as Dol Guldur and which lasted until the end of that Age at which time it was torn down by the armies of Lothlorien and the Men of North Rhovanion.”

“Now. Let us see what Lindir remembers of Dol Guldur.”

Eönwë fell silent and the wall across from the judges suddenly turned black. Then, just as suddenly as it turned black, they saw a door open and a blinding light shine forth into the cell. Lindir cringed away and covered his eyes with a gaunt forearm. Then, as his eyes grew used to the light and a tall cloaked shape became visible in the middle of the doorway, Lindir was heard to gasp loudly. The elf suddenly hissed and suddenly impelled himself up and leapt forward to strike Sauron's armoured chest with his fist.

“You bastard!” the elf shouted in the Black Speech, pounding impotently at the metal armour with his bare fists. “You fucking animal! What did I do to you? Do you want me to go mad? Is this some great, glorious jest to you? The least you could have done was make something visit me at least once a bloody century! Or given me a cursed window so that I can admire your choking clouds and poison myself on the air in this forsaken place!” Then he withdrew his right fist and looked down at it: the skin was red and broken where it had caught over one of the armour's spikes. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Are you finished?” Sauron enquired quietly. Glorfindel stared in disbelief, both at Lindir's enraged outburst, and the unexpectedly... restrained response of the maia. There was that tight feeling in his chest, that chill, that dizziness lingering at the edge of his vision that he had experienced when he had last come to the courtroom.

“No! Damn you!” Lindir snapped. “And I am not going anywhere until you apologise to me.”

“I'm sorry.”

Lindir's eyes narrowed. Glorfindel's brow knitted. Apparently, even now, after so long in thraldom, Lindir was still not broken in spirit. Neither did Sauron seem to be treating him like... like he treated everyone else. Oh, aye, Lindir was certainly being manipulated, being used, but the elf did not seem to be under any delusions about that fact. The dynamic of the relationship was... inexplicable and mystifying... maddeningly so.

“I, too, have been a prisoner,” Sauron explained, still in his quiet voice.

Lindir snorted, then began cackling softly. He sounded half-mad. Glorfindel supposed that he probably was after having been isolated for such a lengthy period.

“You? A prisoner?” Lindir sniggered.

“Do you remember Númenor?”

Lindir nodded. “Númenor, star of the west,” he snickered. “Oh, glorious Númenor, how I praise you for managing to outsmart this serpent, this wolf, this monster of a creature.”

Curiously, Sauron did not seem at all troubled by Lindir's insults. “Oh the contrary, the star has fallen and drowned beneath Belegaer, and no part of it will be salvaged. The Númenoreans attempted to sail to Aman and in return, they were punished with the destruction of their homeland.”

Lindir fell silent for a few moments. Then he stated, “I suppose you were the one who put the idea in their head that challenging the Valar would be such a tra-la-la-lally idea?”

“I may have suggested it to them,” Sauron said softly, taking off one of his gloves. He took Lindir's battered hand and ran his fingers over the broken skin. Before Glorfindel's eyes, the skin healed over and became smooth and unhurt once more.

Sauron turned and began walking away down the black stone corridor that lay outside the cell... though when Lindir looked back upon it, Glorfindel observed that it was not actually a cell, but more akin to a large, solid cage of wood. Perhaps that was how Lindir was transported to Dol Guldur. Lindir looked at the healed limb, then at Sauron's disappearing back.

“Oi!” he called then. Sauron did not halt so Lindir began running after the maia. “Ai oi!” He scooted in front of the masked form. “What we do now?”

“What makes you think that _we_ are doing anything together?” Sauron replied calmly.

“Optimism!” Lindir proposed.

Sauron snorted and reached up to take off his mask. On removing it, Glorfindel saw that the maia was smiling in amusement at Lindir. There was an intensity about his eyes, a dark mirth, both seductive and dangerous. Perhaps the look was deliberately chosen to deceive the elf standing before him. “As it happens, I do have a job for you.”

“More experiments?”

“More experiments indeed,” Sauron agreed. He bent slightly so that his eyes were level with Lindir. “On a smaller scale, no other caretakers, just you and I and twelve fresh wood-elves.”

Lindir was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “Am I correct in guessing that by your use of the word 'fresh', that those wood-elves are new test subjects.”

“Of course. I have little other use for elves,” Sauron asserted. “However, I have not forgotten what happened last time and so if you at any time feel that you cannot look after these elves, then do not hesitate to withdraw from this arrangement.”

Lindir swallowed. Then he said, in a serious voice, “Don't show me what you do to punish them.”

Sauron inclined his head. “Agreed.”

“And don't just leave me if I get upset.”

Sauron inclined his head again and his eyes seemed to soften slightly, though they remained no less intense. “Agreed.”

“And kiss me.”

Sauron smiled and leaned closer. In the gallery, Glorfindel looked away. When he looked back, the memory had been replaced by another recollection.

This memory was of a ward, similar to those that Glorfindel had seen in Halmir's and Iestir's memories of Barad-dur's experimental laboratories. However, this one looked slightly different. Instead of beds of hard stone, the beds were made of wood and had mattresses and blankets. Instead of smooth walls, each wall held broad shelves that held behind each bed, a water jug, a cup, folded towels, and two or three folded blankets. However, like the thralls in the wards in Barad-dur, the thralls of Dol Guldur were also chained to their beds.

Lindir wheeled a trolley that looked like a butler's serving table to the end of a bed at one end of the long room. On the top level of the trolley stood twelve large jars, each containing a tentacled creature of various shapes and colours. There was a label on the lid of each jar. Lindir looked between the jars, the young wood elven occupant of the bed who was sleeping on his front, then back at Sauron, who stood a few feet away at one end of the room and beside a barred door. Beyond the barred door, Glorfindel caught a glimpse of a large laboratory lined with shelves full of more jars and various types of equipment as well as additional blankets and towels.

Sauron seemed to have read a question in Lindir's eyes because he said, “The jar labelled with the title Bed Number 1.”

Lindir looked at the jars, read a few labels, and picked up the one that read, as Sauron had instructed, “Bed Number 1”. The tentacled creature inside was a mottled white colour and had a large bulbous head. Unlike those that Glorfindel had seen in the Orphanage, this one seemed relatively sedate and although its tentacled arms began shifting around when Lindir picked up the jar, it did not thrash around.

“Why did you match this creature to this elf?” Lindir asked. He looked back at Sauron.

Sauron was silent a moment. Then he said dryly, “It was the first jar I picked off the shelf.”

“Oh.” Lindir looked back at the contents of the jar. “I thought you would have used a more... complicated system.”

“You thought incorrectly.”

“Aye.” Lindir watched the creature's languid movements for a while longer. “I don't like this one.” He didn't look back at Sauron, but even Glorfindel in the audience could feel the maia's attention boring into Lindir's head.

“Why not?”

“It's slow. It probably just needs a shake up, though.” Lindir raised the jar in his hands.

“Wait!”

Lindir snickered and looked back at Sauron, who had taken a step forward. “I was jesting. Okay, aye, as you wish, Your Excellency, Dark Lord, Glorious Mutilator. Bed Number 1 gets Jar Off The Shelf Number 1.” He gave a mocking little bow. Upon straightening, he took the jar over to the bed, pulled down the covers of the slumbering elf, put the jar between the elf's legs, and removed the lid.

The creature stuck an arm out of the water, waved the tentacled tip around a bit, then withdrew back into the water. Lindir looked at Sauron. “I told you that it was unenthusiastic,” he said. “And I am not at all sorry about saying 'I told you so'.”

Sauron snorted, slid off his glove, and strode over. He reached into the jar and grasped the tentacled creature, which wriggled unhappily as the maia lifted it out of the jar and moved it to just behind the slumbering elf's bottom. The tentacled creature lazily felt about the elf's entrance for a few moments, then suddenly turned its arms onto exploring the maia's hand and wrist.

“It prefers you,” Lindir said, and giggled, then hurriedly ducked when Sauron suddenly tossed the creature at him. The creature sailed past Lindir's head and landed between two beds at the far end of the room with a soft squelching noise. “Ai, you missed! You are a rotten shot! And I thought you said not to shake it about!”

“That was not shaking, that was tossing,” Sauron said levelly. He pulled the covers back over the slumbering elf and walked back to the tray. “Very well. Onto Bed Number 2.” Lindir watched him pick up what was assumedly the relevant jar and observe the thrashing contents for a few moments. “This one looks more promising.” He brought it over to Lindir and held it out. When Lindir took it, Sauron said, “Go ahead. I will fetch another creature for Bed Number 1.” He turned away and headed back to the door that led to the laboratory. Lindir watched him begin searching the shelves for a few moments, then chuckled softly to himself.

“Do you need any help?” he called.

“Shut up!” the maia shot back, but humour coloured his words.

Lindir chuckled again, then turned and walked over to the bed beside the first. Another wood elf lay slumbering in this one.

Lindir lifted the covers off the elf and as he had done with the elf in the first bed, he set the jar in between the elf's thighs and unscrewed the lid of the jar.

This time, the movement of the creature was like lightning. It whipped out of the jar and had slid into the elf within a matter of seconds of Lindir undoing the lid. Lindir hurriedly lifted the jar away from the elf and just in time: the elf's body began jerking, the unseeing eyes focused with sudden, terrifying knowledge and the mouth opened to let loose a blood-curdling scream. The body yanked at the chains holding him to the bed briefly and then, just as suddenly as the thrashing had started, the elf had fallen still and silent.

Lindir placed the now empty jar back on the trolley, then returned to the elf to feel his neck for a pulse. He looked at Sauron who had returned from the laboratory, another jar in the maia's gloved hands. “He passed out.”

Sauron came over, took off a glove, and felt the elf's head, then chest with the exposed hand. “He will recover.”

Beside Glorfindel, Ingil snorted. “Recover,” he echoed sarcastically.

The memory faded from the wall. The next that appeared was of Lindir inseminating one of the elves who was attempting to chuck everything on the shelf behind his bed at Lindir, who was doing a good job of ducking.

“Did you befriend any of these elves?” Eönwë's voice came through suddenly over the recollection.

“Nay,” Lindir replied quietly. “I kept myself aloof from them. I was not deliberately cruel to them, I just... did not talk to them. I did not want to get involved with their suffering anymore.”

“Yet you contributed to their suffering.”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean by 'of course'? You could have refused. You had a choice.”

“What choice? I knew that I could not return to elven society by then. Indeed, elven society held nothing dear to me. What did I have to lose? I love him; why not show him how much I love him by helping him to achieve his goals?”

The vision faded and was replaced by another in which Lindir inseminated an elf who kept on rolling and wriggling away from him. Finally, in a show of anger that Glorfindel had never seen Lindir express before, Lindir struck the elf with the side of the tray that he used to carry over the insemination equipment. Then, when the elf began cursing him, Lindir sat on top of the elf's middle and continued his work.

“You keep asking me the same question!” Lindir's frustrated voice came over the next vision of him kissing Sauron in an aisle of the laboratory's shelves. “I love Sauron because I love him. Aye, you can call me deluded, you can say that I am evil, but that will not change the fact that I believe I love him and I believe I will always love him. So stop asking me that question. Stop asking me why if you refuse to try to see him from my eyes. I am bonded to him; is that not proof enough of our love? Are not all such bonds born out of mutual love? Since when did a bond become impossible simply because we are talking about him and I?”

Glorfindel's jaw tightened. As the memory progressed and it looked as if they were going to perform the entire sex act before his eyes, he quietly rose and left the hall. On the index finger of his right hand, his wedding ring burned. Half way down the stairwell, he slipped it off.

He was leaving the entrance hall when he heard Ingil call his name. On turning around, he observed the prince and Estel exiting the gallery door and making their way towards him. As they drew near, Glorfindel noticed both of them glance at the wedding ring that Glorfindel held between his left middle finger and thumb.

“I am not well,” Glorfindel told them before either of them could ask. “Rather than help to clarify my thoughts, these court sessions only serve to further confuse and pain me.”

“Do you want me to accompany you back to the witness halls?” Estel offered.

“Or for me to accompany you back to Ingwë's halls?” Ingil added.

Glorfindel smiled bitterly. “Truly, I wish to be gone from this mountain and to return to Tirion,” he said honestly. “However, I must continue the search for Laiglas.”

Estel shook his head, gazing at him in concern. “Glorfindel, we – the former thralls and I – can continue the search that you initiated without you. So please, if there is anywhere you would rather be, anything you would rather be doing, then please – go forth. We will not think any less of you for it.”

Glorfindel was about to protest Estel's words, when Ingil suddenly spoke up. “There is a task that you still need to complete, and which requires you to return to Tirion,” the prince said in his quiet voice. “It is something that you need to do for yourself eventually and which, if you do decide to reunite with Lindir, will help both of you. In the months remaining prior to the birth, you can return to Tirion, secure your finances, and settle in the house that Inglor and Gilraen left you.”

“But...” Glorfindel looked at Estel. He felt confused. A part of him was pulling at the reins to flee this cursed mountain of ice and tears, and return to his home city to try and salvage what remained of his sanity. But his principles demanded that he remain, that he see the search for Laiglas through to its conclusion, whatever might be that end.

But then Estel smiled at him, his smile so blindingly similar to Lindir's sweet deceitful one that Glorfindel almost recoiled on seeing it, and spoke.

“I agree with Prince Ingil,” he said simply. “I will write to you of our progress with the search; every alternate day if you so wish. But to relieve your conscience, let me demand a favour of you. Take Halmir with you as an assistant.”

Glorfindel looked between them uncertainly. In response, they smiled at him, both glancing at Glorfindel's left fist, which was closed fast over the wedding ring.

“I think,” Ingil stated, lifting his gaze back to meet Glorfindel's, “that for once, you should listen to your head, not to your confused heart. Your instincts serve you well, but sometimes, just sometimes, it is better to ignore them.”

Beside him, Estel nodded.

Chapter 57

A few hours later, Glorfindel exited Ingwë's private wing of the King's halls and met with Ingil and Halmir in a nearby courtyard where they had agreed to lunch together.

“My allowance has been reinstated,” he told them as he took his seat at the table. “As for the wedding ring, Ingwë has taken possession of it. It will be melted down by his smiths this afternoon.”

There was a brief silence at the table and, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Glorfindel added, a trite defensively, “I did not make this decision rashly; I have been dwelling on the thought for months. Indeed, my intention ever since I learned of Lindir's affair with Sauron was to annul our union.”

Ingil and Halmir nodded. There was another silence. Then Ingil stirred and said, “I have decided to travel to Tirion with you.”

Glorfindel frowned. “I thought you wished to stay here and help Ingwë with the provision of services to the witnesses and their relatives who come to and from the mountain.”

Ingil nodded. “I did wish to stay here for a longer period of time,” he agreed. “However, just as Estel and his friends can continue the search for Laiglas without you, so too can my servants continue to assist Ingwë without my presence. I think I would rather accompany you to Tirion and stay at the court awhile to help you to settle your affairs, and also, to arrange a meeting between you and Inglor. Then, depending on how matters are progressing here, I will either return here or travel home to Koromas on Tol Eressea.”

“If you are sure, then I would gladly welcome your assistance,” Glorfindel said. “It has been a long time since I was a master of my own house.” Not since Gondolin had he dwelled in his own house. Not since the House of the Golden Flower. Well, he would make that house anew.

~*~

Later that afternoon, after Eönwë had finished with the interview, Lindir retired to bed. He was beginning to doze when he woke suddenly to a strange sensation between the fingers of his right hand. It felt like sand sliding between his index and middle finger. He drowsily looked down at the limb. Then, on seeing the wedding ring gone from his index finger and gold dust beneath his hand, winking and blinking at him in the afternoon light, his eyes widened and he pushed himself up.

“Elrond,” he called. The half-elf swiftly came to his side and on seeing the reason for his dismay, his face clouded.

Lindir shook his head when Elrond looked intently at him. “I am not shocked,” he said quietly. “I expected this ever since I first heard of the trial. Indeed, all that surprises me is how long it took him to annul the union.”

He looked down at the remains of the ring. Then he looked back at Elrond.

“I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for him,” he said. “I hope I will see him again.”

~*~

A fortnight later, Glorfindel, Ingil and Halmir arrived at Tirion. It was evening when they entered the city gates so they stayed overnight at Ingil's villa in the city. The following morning, after Glorfindel had sent word to Gloredhel and Lindo to advise the pair of their presence in the city, they left the villa. With Ingil as their guide, they ascended the Hill of Túna and made their way to the house where Glorfindel had dwelt as a child and into whose hands the residence had been bestowed.

Glorfindel had not visited the house since his thirteenth summer when he had ventured there to see his mother, as he had done almost every weekend since he had been sent to the court's boarding school at the age of eight. The memories of those visits, especially the last few, were infused with fear and loneliness. In the five years between Inglor's departure and her removal to Ingwë's halls and the care of the King's healers, he had watched Gilraen deteriorate and waste away into a person who he barely recognised as his mother, her mind literally drowned by drink and other substances.

As he followed Ingil up the road to the front gate, he felt an echo of that same feeling of disquiet wash over him. As they grew closer and began to catch glimpses of the shining gold roof and upper levels of the mansion between the boughs of the ancient trees, he wondered if he would ever be able to unlearn that fear. Time had dulled its intensity, but not consumed it. Not yet. He supposed that the only cure would be to replace those memories with happier ones. For that, he would need to come up with a new life that was marked with brightness and mirth. There was hope yet for that end; after all, surely his situation from here on could only improve.

They arrived at the gates, which were made of gold like the roof of the halls. They were locked and a rose vine, gorged upon time, which had left it undisturbed to its own devices, had coiled its many arms between the bars. It has finished flowering for the season and all that remained were its many thorns and leaves. They did not hesitate in ripping it away. Then Glorfindel took the ring of keys that Ingwë had given him out of his pocket and unlocked the gate.

“When Ingwë told me that this house had lain empty since I was thirteen,” Glorfindel stated as they picked their way up the garden path to the faded front doors, “I did not believe him.” They ascended the front steps and he undid the lock on the chains that were looped through the door handles. They slithered to the steps and the doors, on finding themselves now free of their restraints, opened soundlessly before them.

Glorfindel heard Halmir gasp softly as they gazed upon the lofty light-filled entrance hall. The windows at the top of the arched roof of the hall were detailed about with gold, thus the light that shone down to where they stood upon the white floors was golden too. Long chandeliers drooped from the roof, their crystals like many thousands of teardrops.

“Inglor built these halls for Gilraen,” Ingil said suddenly, quietly.

They crossed the entrance hall and arrived at a broad stairwell. There, they split up. Ingil stated that he would leave and return to his villa where he would arrange for lunch to be sent over for them. As for Halmir, who Glorfindel had temporarily employed as his assistant on Estel's request, Glorfindel handed him the ring of keys and asked him to begin the process of airing out the building by opening all of the doors and windows.

As for himself, he headed upstairs in search of his old rooms on the third floor. As he went, he noticed that most of the house's furniture was still insitu, each piece carefully covered by a long white sheet. As he passed each covered item, Glorfindel would pull off its mask, briefly observe the revealed antique, then continue onwards.

His rooms looked exactly the same as he remembered them. On opening the cupboards of the wardrobe, he noticed that they were clear of clothes. Perhaps they had all been sent to the boarding house. Glorfindel could not recall.

He sat down on one of the faded child-sized armchairs by the window and looked back at the room. It was a large room for a child. In his memories, however, it had been larger – probably because he himself had been so much smaller in stature the last time he had seen it.

He wondered where he would sleep now. As the master of the house, it was seemly that he appropriate his father's old rooms. He barely remembered them, even though they took up a large portion of the second floor. He rose and made his way back downstairs.

On the way, he met Halmir who was making his way upstairs. The elf, on spotting him, smiled and followed him unasked into Inglor's quarters where he proceeded to continue uncovering furniture, drawing curtains and opening windows.

In the study, Glorfindel halted when he noticed Halmir uncover a painting that was leaning against the wall. It was of Inglor, Gilraen and himself as a toddler. All three of them were smiling brightly. Glorfindel pursed his lips. What had happened to so overturn that unity, to turn cohesion into chaos?

“There are more paintings over here,” Halmir called from the other side of the room. Evidently the elf had noticed his distraction. Glorfindel turned and followed after the elf to observe the three additional paintings that the former captain of Lorinand had uncovered. There was a portrait of Gilraen, a portrait of Gilraen holding him as a babe, and a painting of the city of the Vanyar lit by the golden light of the Tree Laurelin.

Halmir disappeared through a doorway and Glorfindel wandered after him into a shadowy room. On looking around, he observed the bedroom – the master bedroom – in interest. It was expansive, the ceilings were lofty, the furniture was luxurious and sensually curved... Glorfindel had never been in this room; he did not remember it and he was certain that he would have done so had he seen it.

There was a sudden rushing noise as the curtains over the west-facing windows were whipped back and Glorfindel blinked when the room was suddenly washed in golden sunlight. On looking outside, past Halmir who was tying back the heavy white drapes, Glorfindel observed that the windows were actually doors that were almost as tall and wide as the walls themselves. These doors opened out onto a broad balcony surrounded by balustrades as fat and curved as the furniture within the room.

Glorfindel smiled. Aye, he would appropriate these quarters for himself.

“Glorfindel!”

Just as swiftly as Glorfindel's smile had appeared, it now faded as he heard a familiar voice distantly call out his name from the direction of the entrance hall. Was that? Oh, but surely?

A frown on his face, Glorfindel returned to the stairwell landing and leaned over the balustrade. On observing the tall elf standing below on the ground level, his frown deepened.

It was indeed Gildor. On spying Glorfindel standing above him, the tall elf smiled.

“I see that news of my return to Tirion has travelled swiftly,” Glorfindel called down.

“On the contrary, I happened to be strolling in the area,” came the smooth reply.

“Liar.” Glorfindel saw movement to his right and glanced in that direction to observe Halmir draw alongside and gaze curiously down at Gildor. When he looked back to Gildor, he noticed Gildor incline his head towards Halmir before meeting his gaze once more.

“I also happened,” Gildor continued, his smile broadening, “to hear from another who heard from another that you were observed entering the city yesterday evening in the company of Crown Prince Ingil with whom you resided overnight.”

“Indeed. What else did the grapevine of Tirion tell you?”

Gildor glanced at Glorfindel's right hand where it rested upon the rail of the balustrades. “It also told me that you are this city's newest bachelor.” He looked pointedly at Halmir. “Or rather, that you _were_ recently a bachelor, but are no longer deserving of that title for I see that you have already lured a new lover to your bed. How predictable of you. What is his name?”

Halmir stiffened slightly. Irritated, Glorfindel shook his head at Gildor, who was smirking at their discomfort. “Your jibe is unwarranted; he is a friend, not a lover. As for his name, it is Halmir, son of Haldur.”

Still grinning widely, Gildor looked at Halmir. “I apologise, Halmir. However, you should know that you – as a tall, handsome and unwed elf – are an exception to the rule for Lord Glorfindel. As a bachelor, he has a voracious appetite for unwed males...” He bared his teeth suddenly, turning the grin feral, “...a _very_ insatiable appetite for flesh such as yours.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and turned to regard Halmir who he was glad only looked slightly bewildered, but not distressed, by Gildor's insinuations. “Halmir,” he said. “Leave us.”

Once Halmir had left, Glorfindel looked back down at Gildor who smirked back at him. Neither said a word for a long while. Then, Glorfindel said quietly, “Did the grapevine also bear news of Iestir? Is that why you are acting so spitefully and aggressively towards my companion and I today? Is that the reason why you stand here without an invitation?”

Gildor's face darkened. “It is my only reason for being here today,” he said, his voice now devoid of the humour that had earlier masked it. “Why did you not send word to me of his existence? Why did you not send word to me from the Orphanage or the summit or even as soon as you arrived in Tirion? Why is it that I had to hear of him through another Noldo who I barely know and who just so happened to see him on the summit?”

“Iestir seemed discomforted at the idea of reuniting with you. I did not wish to provoke such a reunion without first obtaining his consent,” Glorfindel readily responded.

Gildor's face whitened. “You were waiting for his consent?” he snapped. “What, then, would you be saying to me at your inevitable housewarming party had I not heard that Iestir still lived? Would you have continued to perpetuate my mistaken belief? My _wife's_ mistaken belief? I am your friend and he is my son; confidentiality is unwarranted.”

“Nay, I would have breached the matter, as I have now done with you.”

Gildor fell silent. Then he sighed heavily and looked down at the floor of the hall.

“Why are you still in Tirion?” Glorfindel asked then.

“We have written to him, to ask him for permission to visit him,” Gildor said in a quiet voice. “We are waiting upon his response.” He was silent for a few moments longer. Then he straightened and looked back up at Glorfindel. “When is the housewarming party? There is no reason to hide from the eyes of the public now that you are no longer associated with Lindir. Of course, that does not mean that no one will know that you were his husband. Indeed, I think most everyone at court would have heard something of your relationship with him by now.”

Glorfindel frowned. Gildor smiled.

“Rest easy, Glorfindel,” the elf continued. “You will not find talk of the trial on the streets of Tirion. However, consider yourself no longer ignored by Tirion's nobility. Regardless of whether or not you choose to return to court, whatever you choose to do will be observed and judged. So tell me: when is the housewarming party? When will you make that first impression?”

“I do not know,” Glorfindel said, greatly sobered by the other's words. “I will send you word as soon as I do know, however. Thank you, also, for the warning.”

“Good,” Gildor said. “I will see you there.” Then he turned and left the house.

~*~

Initially, when Sauron first proposed the idea, Lindir was uncertain that he had heard correctly.

He held up his hands, which were still damp from the newborn that he had just cut out from the body of the lifeless elf lying before them. “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said,” Sauron replied from where he stood on the other side of the cadaver's bloodied form.

“I thought I heard you suggest that I should be the elf lying on this table,” Lindir stated as he deftly wound the wailing babe up in a clean towel. “Certainly, I acknowledge that mutilating and disembowling my kin while they are still alive is an enjoyable pastime of yours, but over the course of our lengthy relationship – at least it has been lengthy for me – I had come to believe that you had no use for me as a test subject and preferred for me to remain as a caretaker... as myself,” he added.

“You are acting under the assumption that I have not already experimented with your body,” Sauron commented.

“Aye, though I would not be surprised if you had managed to change something without my noticing,” Lindir said. He put the baby down at the end of the table and picked up one of the used towels. He turned towards the elf's face, which was frozen in a grimace of pain, intending to cover it with the cloth. On observing the face, he pursed his lips. Normally, he could ignore such expressions, but now that the prospect that he might soon die in exactly the same way was facing him, he could not.

There was a brief silence. Then Lindir sighed and threw the towel over the elf's face; covering it. He looked back at Sauron's mask. “Why ask me now? Why ask me when I am most likely to say nay? And for that matter, why ask me at all? It is not like you to ask for permission when you wish to do something. Why?”

“I wish for you to make your decision when you are keenly aware of the risks associated with such a life,” was the calm response.

Lindir sighed. “Aye, but why ask me at all? Why do you wish for me to become one of these elves? I am nothing like them. I am neither tall nor strong, neither clever nor charismatic. My constitution is low. I am not high born. I have no leadership qualities whatsoever. What traits do I have that you would have manifest in your own servants?”

“Loyalty,” Sauron replied, still in that calm voice. “You are a hard worker, quick to adapt, extremely dexterous, and contrary to the picture that you paint of yourself, you are clever and charismatic.”

Lindir was silent for another brief while. He felt disorientated, confused... crushed. It was not the request, it was the implication behind it – the proof that Sauron truly valued his experiments more than he valued him. Of course, Lindir had always known that to Sauron, he came second to the maia's experiments. But he had still hoped, always hoped, sometimes even been able to delude himself into thinking that Sauron might actually care for him. But in the end... it had come to this and Lindir knew that Sauron would have him as a test subject regardless of whether Lindir said 'aye' or 'nay'.

In elven society, relationships were based upon a mutual agreement to help each other achieve selfish goals, whether they be for a member of the group or the group as a whole. Everything was cushioned by concepts of nonmaleficence, beneficence... do no harm, do good, treat others as you would be treated...

In Sauron's world, there was only one way and that was Sauron's way. You had to stay in line. You could deviate only so far until he cut you off. Lindir had thought that by being employed for so long as a caretaker, by being allowed to pick fun of the maia, by being allowed to touch him, by being allowed so close as to be able to provoke cries of pleasure from him, that the rules might have applied a little differently to him. But apparently not. Apparently he was just the same as all of these other elves.

He picked up the babe, glanced back at the ward full of mostly sedated elves, then looked back at the babe who was wriggling about, the very picture of a giant ugly baby rat. In a few years, if the average lifespan of a test subject held for him, he would be as dead as this one's mother and looking towards the West and a very, very long internment in Mandos, the Halls of Waiting. That was assuming the Halls admitted him and did not condemn him to become one of the Houseless.

That said, considering the crimes that he had committed, perhaps becoming a test subject would give him some kind of salvation, at least some lightening of his inevitable sentence.

“Aye,” he said quietly. “I will do it.”

~*~

When Ingil returned around lunchtime that day, the elf brought with him twenty servants from his Tirion villa and sixty others that he had borrowed from friends at the citadel. Glorfindel set twenty of the servants to sorting out the not inconsiderable outside areas; thirty more to restocking the rooms with everything from food and drink, to new mattresses and bath accessories; and ten to ordering this stock. The last twenty he tasked with the duties that he had initially bestowed upon Halmir: that of continuing to air out the residence. This included unmasking every piece of furniture, sweeping the place from top to bottom until it was clear of dust and leaves and smelt clear, and removing anything that had succumbed to the ravages of time.

By sunset that day, they had finished almost half of the interior and the same of the outside. By the fourth day, everything, save some orders for linen, which they were still waiting on the weavers to complete, was ready.

“I think,” Ingil said over supper on the fourth day, after the Crown Prince had brought up the subject of temporarily transferring some of his servants into Glorfindel's service until his nephew had hired his own full staff, “that you will be able to host your first party in a fortnight.”

“I assume you know someone who is capable of coordinating such an event,” Glorfindel said. “This will not be a small affair in any sense of the word; I am associated with almost every noble in this city and most of them will be grandsires by now so I will be playing host to their families as well.”

Ingil chuckled. “Of course. That is why I have decided to charge my housekeeper with the task of organising the event. He has conducted more than two thousand similar events. I think that is ample experience to ensure that the event, at least structurally, goes perfectly. However, it is up to you, Glorfindel, to lead the event so that you make exactly the impression that you wish to make upon the lords and ladies of Tirion. You will be observed and you will be judged.”

Gildor had said the same thing. Glorfindel smiled at the elf. “Thank you. I am truly grateful for everything that you have done to assist me.”

Ingil smiled. “You are welcome.”

As Ingil turned his attention back to the bowl of soup lying before him on the freshly polished dining table, Glorfindel regarded the Crown Prince thoughtfully. He still could not quite believe that Ingil, an elf that he still felt he barely knew, had decided to devote so much of his time and resources to him. The generosity almost made him feel uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was because this was the sort of thing that Inglor, his father, should be doing for him. It should be Inglor sitting beside him at the enormous table, trying out the new surface with him, not Ingil.

Was Inglor even aware that he had returned to Tirion? Did his father realise that the old house that he had built for Gilraen had been reopened? Glorfindel had not heard from him, even though it was only a twenty or so minute walk from the citadel to the house.

“Ingil,” Glorfindel asked then, quietly. “Will Inglor come to the party?”

“I do not know,” Ingil replied, looking back at him. “I have asked him; believe me – I have tried to convince him that it would be appreciated if he came to see you before today. However, I just do not know.”

“Is he willing for me to visit him?”

A shadow passed over Ingil's face. “Nay,” the prince said shortly, and he looked back down at his soup. “I am sorry.”

Glorfindel's face clouded. “Why?” he asked. “Why does he refuse to see me? Why is he so unwilling to humour his own son for even a few minutes? Ilúvatar, I should storm his quarters without his permission. I should just...”

“Please refrain; I am working at him,” Ingil interceded softly, looking up at him. He held Glorfindel's gaze for a few moments. Then Glorfindel nodded.

“Aye,” he agreed. “I will wait.” For Ingil, he would wait.

Chapter 58 – An Uninvited Guest

Glorfindel had attended many parties in his life, in Valinor, Beleriand, and Middle-earth. However, he had not hosted one since Gondolin and the long years as a resident of Imladris had dulled his memory as to the sheer scale of such an event.

Imladrian parties were full of food and drink, songs, and dances. But although those components were shared by parties in Tirion, there were still a number of significant differences. Here and partly due to the greater number of elders, the formalities were considerably stricter. Different too were the topics acceptable for discussion. As for the number of strange faces, it seemed that almost every elf who arrived on his doorstep that night was strange... and yet, ironically, not strange for it seemed that everyone knew him, though he knew not them. It bewildered and – dare he say it – frightened him.

“Stay close,” he told Ecthelion when his best friend finally arrived in the company of six members of his immediate and extended family. “I feel like I am drowning tonight and the sight of your familiar face is like the sight of driftwood.”

Ecthelion laughed. “I do not envy you; there are almost a thousand elves here who have travelled all the way from Tanquetil to Tol Eressea to greet you and enjoy the night with you as their host. Of course I will accompany you.”

“Thank you.”

From then until the end of dinner, Glorfindel's fears abated slightly, cushioned by Ecthelion's company, the smoothness with which the servants conducted the meal, and his relief that as of yet, no mention had been made of his relationship with either Lindir or Inglor, the latter of whom had not – as he had suspected – shown his face. It was after dinner, during the dancing, during the singing, when the guests began to divide and mingle in different halls of the house and venture out into the gardens, that Glorfindel began to feel that feeling of rising panic again.

It all started with Penlod. Of course, the elf just had to make his presence known to Glorfindel by coming up silently behind him and deliberately placing a hand in the small of his back. Glorfindel started and consequently, spilled most of the contents of his goblet down his sleeve. Of course, he just had to have been holding a full goblet of red wine. On seeing that it was Penlod and realising that the four elves with whom he had been talking earlier had all witnessed his accident, elves which just happened to include both Lord Turgon and Lord Fingon, Glorfindel flushed almost as red as the wine.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, and turned to make his way swiftly to the second floor to change his clothes. As he entered the master bedroom, unbuttoning his tunic as he went, and absently flicking shut the door behind him, he noticed a few seconds later that he had not heard the door fall shut. He looked back and frowned on seeing Penlod standing at the open doorway.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I wished to see you privately,” Penlod replied. He glanced around the master bedroom with a faintly curious expression, his gaze lingering for a few moments upon the bed and window curtains, then looked back at him. “May I enter?”

Glorfindel nodded and watched the taller elf enter and shut the door behind him. He undid the last button of his tunic, shrugged it off and cast it over a nearby chair. “So,” he began awkwardly, as he started unfastening the buttons of his undershirt, which had unfortunately also managed to get stained, “what did you wish to discuss with me?”

“Do you intend to return to court?”

“Aye.”

“You are aware, I hope, that your detractors have contacts on Mount Taniquetil and are well armed with slurs with which to tarnish your reputation? Indeed, there are a number of them floating around your halls tonight, quietly spoiling the mood with their whispers.”

“Are you one of my detractors?” Glorfindel looked at Penlod, who was standing leaning against the door, his arms folded, his face grave.

Penlod smiled faintly. “As the one who seduced you as a mere child, I am in no position to name you corrupted.”

Glorfindel's brow rose. He cast off the undershirt and went over to his wardrobe. “Then what are you? You are neither ally nor foe; do you intend to observe from the sidelines and slink away as soon as the issue of homosexuality is raised?” He opened the wardrobe doors and selected a new undershirt and tunic.

“Aye, that is exactly what I intend to do.” There was no bite of sarcasm in Penlod's voice; the elf was speaking his mind, honestly and directly.

Glorfindel shrugged on the shirt and turned his head to look at Penlod. “I never thought of you as a coward.”

Penlod smiled indulgently. “I prefer to call it self-preservation; I am not in a position to bite the hand that feeds my family.”

“I can appreciate that,” Glorfindel acknowledged, recalling the four white-haired elves that he had seen downstairs, that had named themselves as various descendants of the elf standing before him. “So why are you here warning me if you do not intend to act as my friend when I face them?” He finished fastening up the buttons of the shirt and started donning the tunic.

“I am here because I wish for you to know that despite my inability to support you publicly, I do support you... privately.”

Glorfindel stared at him intently for a few moments, long enough to discern the sincerity in the older elf's face. Then he nodded. “I understand.”

There was a brief silence. Then Penlod ventured, “Your marriage annulment; am I correct in thinking that such a motion was made wholeheartedly and not merely in an attempt to claw back political support?” When Glorfindel's eyes narrowed, the older elf spread his hands. “I have not seen you since your resurrection; how am I to know whether you are still the same insufferable elf of honour, especially considering the gossip-mangled reports that I have heard of your activities recently? Ilúvatar, but I even heard that you used to be _married_ to Sauron's bonded lover,” he added sarcastically.

Glorfindel sneered slightly. “Witty. Well, I have not changed that much.”

“Out of curiosity, do you intend to take another lover? Assuming, of course, that celibacy is still not on your list of new personal habits?”

Glorfindel finished doing up the fastenings of the tunic. He flipped his hair loose of the collar, smoothed down the front of the tunic, then looked back at Penlod. “Another lover? Perhaps.” Another spouse, however, was another matter entirely. He doubted, seriously, that he would be able to give so much of himself to another ever again. Indeed, to some degree he felt as if he had already given away everything that he had ever had to give. “You are a nosy fellow; why do you ask?”

“I entertained Gildor at a luncheon last week and we spoke of you and your recent return. He asked me to ask you. I did not consent in as many words, but he made the request so matter-of-factly, that I was intrigued.” When Glorfindel tilted his head, Penlod elaborated, “It almost sounded to me as if as he was merely going through the motions of a long dance that you and he have – if I am correct – been playing since you were lovers as babes.”

“You are correct. He is married, he has a child; we are friends, but have not slept together since I wed Lindir. I do not know why he persists in pursuing me; he has already made his bed and from what I have gathered, he is still close to his lady.”

“It sounds to me as if you need to talk with him about your relationship.”

Glorfindel smiled faintly. “Perhaps... nay, _certainly_ , that was once the case. But in my mind, the nature of our interactions now do not reflect attraction, but merely the echo of it. It is naught but a game, now, between us. No more, no less. Now come; let us return to the party.” Together, they left the room and began the descent back to the ground level where the party was still in full swing.

Half-way down, Glorfindel remembered and asked carefully, “Does Prince Inglor attend court?”

“Occasionally, though he is not, as you undoubtedly recall, taken to making public appearances.”

“What are his duties now?”

Penlod shot him a quick, assessing, doubtful look, as if querying why Glorfindel, as Inglor's son, did not already know the answer to these questions, and why Glorfindel had asked him rather than his own father. The older elf lord did not comment on his thoughts, however, and obliged him with an answer by saying, “The same as usual; he works in the treasuries, oversees the House of Ingwe's investments in Finwe's kingdom.”

“Oh.”

Penlod paused and looked over the stair rail to the crowd in the hallway. “You do not talk to him, do you.”

“Nay.” Glorfindel followed his gaze to the crowd and found his own eyes settling on Gildor. His former lover and constant friend was speaking to Lady Celebrian, Elrond's wife. Clad in a modestly cut blue dress embroidered over with tiny white flowers and a thin white shawl, the former Lady of Imladris had arrived alone. Her beautiful face was drawn in an amused smile as she listened attentively to whatever Gildor was saying to her.

Penlod glanced back at him. “Is it true that you have not spoken to your sire since Inglor separated from Gilraen?”

“It is difficult to speak to him when he refuses to see me.” Glorfindel's gaze drifted across the crowd and settled on Ingil, who was speaking animatedly to Ecthelion's sire, as if they were long time friends. He looked back at Penlod when he heard the elf exhale.

“I see; I imagine it would be difficult for you in that situation,” Penlod said quietly, not looking at him but in Ingil's direction. Then he suddenly stopped and frowned, as if he had seen something that troubled him. “Speaking of difficulties, why did you invite Maeglin? His long internment in Mandos did little to improve his character; he is still loathed.”

Glorfindel stiffened and, halting, turned his head to follow the other's gaze. He felt his smile freeze on his lips when he saw, standing leaning elegantly against a wall a few feet beyond Ingil, a goblet dangling from his long fingers, a tall dark-haired elf gazing back at him with an arrogant smile on his handsome face.

“Oh Eru,” Glorfindel breathed. “I did not invite him.” He watched, with growing dismay, as the shunned elf suddenly straightened and began winding his way gracefully towards the stairs on which they stood. “What do you suppose he wants with us?”

“With _you_ ,” Penlod corrected softly as Maeglin neared the stairwell, the traitor of Gondolin's smug eyes not once having left Glorfindel's face. “I have no idea.”

“ _Speaking_ of me, Penlod?” Maeglin asked coolly as he ascended the bottom few steps to draw within a couple of feet of them. He gazed coldly at the captain.

“Complimentary words only, of course, Your Lordship,” Penlod muttered, bowing slightly to him.

“Of course,” Maeglin replied disbelievingly, his lip curling. “Leave us.”

Penlod glanced sharply at Glorfindel in protest, who promptly rose to his defence.

“Penlod, stay. I believe this is _my_ residence, Maeglin,” he told Maeglin sharply. “Penlod stands at my side at my request.”  
“And I have requested that he leave,” Maeglin replied, looking completely unfazed. “This may be your dwelling, but it is a building that stands in my family's kingdom and therefore, our jurisdiction. Besides, I did not come here to discuss your relationship with Inglor in his presence.”

Glorfindel tensed. He stared suspiciously at the younger elf. “What business is my relationship with Inglor to you?” he asked, a little more harshly than he would have liked.

In response, Maeglin glanced sourly at Penlod whose face had sobered on hearing the other's words. The white-haired elf ducked his head towards them both, shot Glorfindel a faint smile, then stepped around Maeglin and headed down the stairs to rejoin the throng of chattering, dancing guests.

“Well?” Glorfindel demanded when Maeglin looked back at him. “What do you want with me? And for that matter, how did you manage to persuade the door wardens to allow you to enter my house?”

“You really do hate me,” Maeglin observed mildly. “I did not crawl down your chimney if that is what you suspect. Nor did I steal the invitation; it was readily given to me.” He reached into his front pocket and withdrew what Glorfindel immediately recognised as one of the invitations that he had sent out. Eyes narrowing, Glorfindel took it from him and flipped it around to gaze in shock, then bewilderment at the name imprinted on the surface of the card.

_Prince Inglor_

He stared numbly back at Aredhel's son, who was eyeing him curiously. All of his anger at seeing the hated elf suddenly flooded away, leaving him feeling drained.

“I do not understand,” he said. “How is it that he gave you his invitation?”

“How indeed,” Maeglin murmured. He smiled faintly at him. The smirk had left his eyes, leaving him looking – for once – oddly sympathetic. “He expects you to show up in his quarters any day now, demanding answers from him. The number of times I have seen him pacing the floor in my office these past few weeks...”

“Do you work with him?”

Maeglin took back the invite and, after slipping it back into his pocket, acceded, “King Finwe thinks that his treasuries are one of the safest places for one of my – unsightly and dangerous reputation – to be kept leashed.” He shrugged, a rueful smile crossing his face. “On the contrary, there are some very interesting – very scandalous – monetary exchanges going on within your immediate family.” His smile widened slightly when Glorfindel's frown deepened.

“Such as?” Glorfindel pressed.

“Such as why Inglor billed Ingil for your tuition and boarding expenses as a child.” Maeglin looked down at the crowd, at Ingil who was still talking cheerfully with Ecthelion's sire. “Or why, at the same time, Ingil was also financing Ecthelion's boarding expenses, Ecthelion, who began to board at exactly the same time as you. Or why, to this day, Inglor bills Ingil for every expense concerning you that lands before him.”

Glorfindel stared at him uneasily. “What are you trying to insinuate?”

“I am insinuating nothing,” Maeglin said, looking back at him. The knowing, arrogant smile had returned to his lips. “I am just stating truths.” He turned away. “You know where to find me if you do not believe me... assuming you can bear the added humiliation of being associated with yet another former thrall with a disreputable past,” he added, before descending the steps and gracefully winding his way back into the crowd and away – towards the front doors.

Baffled, Glorfindel stared after him until the younger elf had disappeared from sight. Then, on hearing someone call his name from the crowd, he finally tore his eyes away from the doors and – forcing a smile back on his face – returned to his duties as host.

~*~

Naked, Lindir lay limply in the bindings that kept him fast to the wooden bench. Arms chained above his head, legs parted slightly and raised in stirrups, his backbone aching from where it was pressing at an uncomfortable angle into the bench, he watched Sauron moving around and making everything ready in the central laboratory beyond the bars. Vaguely, as he scanned the masked, emotionless face, he wondered why it had taken so long for him to finally be treated like every other elf in this den of horrors.

The few elves lying on the other beds were – for the most part – asleep. One of those who was awake and watching him, however, was one of those who regularly fought him as a caretaker. Lindir, after glancing at him and noting his unsurprised expression, hoped anxiously that he would not be placed – at a later date – in a cell with him. He would likely not last even an hour if the other elf – who was taller and broader than him – were given a chance to lay into him.

Now he knew how Rana had felt when near to Halmir.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the bars shift and he turned his head back to watch Sauron exiting the laboratory, a jar in his hands. Encased within the glass lay one of the maia's creatures, a rose-coloured specimen with long, thin tentacles that waved lazily when at rest and thrashed around when disturbed. Currently, disturbed by the gentle rocking brought about by Sauron's movements, it was launching itself violently against the sides, top, and bottom of the jar, arms flailing wildly, suckers dragging wetly on the glass and the underside of the lid. Lindir stared at it numbly. Why had such a violent one been chosen? Or had it been chosen by its position on the shelf and not at all for its cruel characteristics?

Sauron set the jar down between Lindir's outstretched legs, an inch or so from his flaccid, shrunken genitals. Lindir, on seeing the creature begin to crawl all over the side of the jar nearest to him, as if it had already sensed the proximity of its future host, felt his pelvis tighten slightly. He shivered, then grimaced when Sauron began undoing the lid. Oh... Eru, the creature was already latched onto the bottom of the lid.

The merest of gap between the lid and the jar and Lindir saw the creature whip out, long arms racing down the outside of the glass, a cold wetness upon him, slipping into him. And then – oh Eru, it was _in_ him and the pain was twisting, tearing, stabbing... _agony_. His vision went red, his limbs lashed within his restraints. Distantly, he heard himself screaming. And then he fainted and for a time, remembered no more.

~*~

Glorfindel did not manage to find an opportunity to draw Ingil aside and speak to him of Maeglin's strange words that night until the small hours of the morning when he was farewelling the last guest. It was only then that he discovered from the housekeeper that the Crown Prince had excused himself from the party a few hours earlier.

He watched broodingly from the front door as Halmir and one of the door wardens assisted the inebriated and unfortunately rotund last guest into a carriage and shut the door after him. The driver called out to the horses and within a matter of minutes, the party had finished for good and the gates were shut.

“Is something wrong?” Halmir asked as the elf approached the front door where Glorfindel stood staring out over the front gardens. “You look troubled.”

Glorfindel looked at him, at the Wood-Elf's frank, worried face. Already, in the few months since they had left the shadowy confines of the Orphanage, the other elf's colour had improved. “It is...” He broke off. It was... what? It was certainly not nothing. It was not something that he felt prudent to discuss openly, but even so... If Maeglin had indeed spoken truly, then that meant that Ingil was – just like everyone else in his family – hiding something from him.

Halmir did not prompt him. The tall elf just stood there – gazing anxiously at him... waiting patiently.

“Does Estel associate with Maeglin?” Glorfindel finally asked.

Halmir's brow knitted. For a few moments, the elf looked thoughtful. Then he nodded. “He has mentioned Lord Maeglin's name a few times to me,” he said. “I believe Lord Maeglin has on occasion helped Estel to have eyes and ears in Tirion's court.”

“So Maeglin supports the Orphanage?”

Halmir smiled faintly. “I believe so; I am not sure, however. As I said, Estel has only mentioned his name a few times to me.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly. So at some time, Maeglin, or Estel, had made contact with the other, and a relationship of sorts had been built. He could see that Maeglin might, as a former thrall, be interested in supporting Estel. He had something to gain from it, after all. Recognition of whatever cruelties he had suffered at Morgoth's whims, for example. Cruelties that – to Glorfindel's knowledge – had never been shared. Recognition and then forgiveness, even. But what did Maeglin have to gain from him? He did not believe for a moment that Maeglin would willingly come out of his way to assist him without some incentive.

“My wife did not come, but my daughter did,” Halmir said suddenly, drawing Glorfindel's attention back to the Wood-Elf. The younger elf was smiling slightly, wistfully. “She said that all three of her sons became warriors of Lothlorien, that one of them – Haldir – became the marchwarden of the Northern Marches of the wood for a time.”

“I have met Haldir,” Glorfindel said, surprised. “He visited Imladris a few times. Did he and his siblings venture to these shores?”

“Nay. Two remained in Greenwood, with Lord Celeborn. One, however, Rumil, apparently lives with his wife near my daughter in Alqualonde.”

Glorfindel smiled at the other elf's happy expression; evidently, his meeting with his daughter had gone well. “You shall have to visit them.”

“I hope to do so,” the elf replied. “Thank you for inviting them.”

“It was my pleasure; I am glad that this reunion went well for you.”

~*~

Pain engulfed everything, _was_ everything. Whether sharp and stabbing – as the creature ripped into his tissues, shredding everything in its way; or whether a slow crippling burn – as his tissues twisted and cramped; it was agony.

Reality was a nightmare. Dreams were nightmares. He saw flashes of a stone ceiling, of his flailing arms, of Sauron's face, of the equipment that he once worked with daily. He heard his own cries of pain: screaming, whimpering, yelping, cursing, weeping... His voice always sounded alien to his ears – too raw, too hoarse, too broken.

It felt like forever. Indeed, it _was_ months before he was stable, before Sauron took the next step and inseminated him with that vial of liquid that he would later – much later – thousands of years later – realise was the dark lord's own seed. Then, at long last, he was finally allowed to crawl from the ward bed and taken, tottering on shaking legs, into a private cell to wait out the year or so until Laiglas' birth.

Chapter 59 – Inglor

When Glorfindel woke in the middle of the morning on the following day and made his way downstairs, he found Ingil lounging at a table on one of the porches overlooking the gardens and enjoying the remains of what looked to be a late breakfast. As Glorfindel approached, the Prince looked around with a smile of welcome on his face, but this faded swiftly on seeing Glorfindel's clouded expression.

“I was about to congratulate you on the success of last night,” his uncle said, frowning, “but you look troubled.”

“I was accosted by Lord Maeglin last night,” Glorfindel replied as he arrived at the table. He pulled out the chair opposite from Ingil and sat down in it, watching his uncle's face closely. On seeing no reaction, he then added, “He is apparently quite close to Inglor.”

Still, no reaction.

“Did he explain why Inglor did not show his face last night, then?” Ingil asked.

“Nay. He said that you pay all of Inglor's expenses for me.”

Ingil looked down at the remains of his breakfast, and then, after a few moments, turned his head and looked at the gardens. For a moment, Glorfindel thought he saw a slight tension enter the Prince's face, but when Ingil finally looked back at him and met his eyes, there was no sign of it.

“I have always paid for your expenses,” Ingil said calmly. He reached for his napkin and blotted his lips. “It is a financial matter between Inglor and I.”

“It is a matter that I would appreciate having explained to me,” Glorfindel said. When Ingil suddenly rose from the table, his frown deepened.. “Are you leaving?”

“I am needed at court,” Ingil replied quietly. “I will explain the matter to you later.” Then he turned and left. Minutes later, Glorfindel saw him – across the gardens – leaving through the front gates. He stared incredulously after the disappearing figure.

“He just brushed me off,” he muttered. “He just... Iluvatar, he just brushed me off.”

“Would you like to breakfast here, my lord?” A servant had just appeared at the entrance to the porch. Glorfindel glanced distractedly at him, then looked down at the remains of the meal on the table.

“Nay,” he said, and shook his head. He rose. “I will eat at court. Tell Halmir to take the day off.” Then, after hurrying upstairs to change his clothes to something more formal and drag on a cloak, he rushed back downstairs and left the house.

~*~

Lindir stared absently at the cards that Elrond was shuffling in his hands over the table between them. He did not feel like playing. But then again, neither did he feel like sleeping, or bathing, or eating, or talking, or doing anything that the half-elf had offered to him by way of a distraction that might help them to pass the monotony of the day.

“I want to go outside,” he said suddenly, less to Elrond and more to Eonwe – or whatever invisible guard that by Manwe's will was always watching over him.

Across from him, Elrond's hands stilled and the half elf looked at him. For months now, they had been together and Lindir had become so used to seeing the dark circles under the other's eyes that he had begun to ignore Elrond's exhaustion and frustration. He knew that it had to be unimaginably draining to have to care for a prisoner such as him – a patient who desired death; a miserable, pitiful wreck who constantly alternated between crying and petulant, childish tantrums; a depressed elf who refused to eat and who slept entirely too much; a prisoner constantly in need of distraction, diversion, enlivening, amusement.

“You know that I have no power to grant that wish,” Elrond reminded quietly. Even now, the half-elf still had patience for him. Lindir wondered what kind of patients the half-elf had had to endure before in his long life to be capable of putting up with him.

_Evidently far worse ones._

“I know,” Lindir said. He rose and padded over to the doorway of his suite to slip past the parted curtains and down the passageway in the direction of the portal room. As he had suspected, the door to the room had disappeared. Instead, all that lay before him was a wall. He reached out and touched it, felt the smooth fabric silky under his fingertips. The shimmering gems inset in its surface glowed softly, making his fingers look almost transparent in their light. He had hoped for steps, perhaps even a look out over the mountain, more steps over the clouds, a platform on which he might stand and touch the sky that looked over Arda...

“But there is no guarantee that you will not leap from such a platform is there?” Eonwe's cold voice whispered behind him. The maia's icy breath brushed the nape of his neck, causing him to start.“Indeed, you _would_ leap and have the world tumble towards your soft elven body, have the mountain side burst open this pregnant body like an overripe fruit.” Warily, frightened, Lindir looked back, but all he could see was Elrond's worried robed figure standing at the other end of the passageway, at the doorway to his quarters.

“Come back, Lindir,” Elrond said. “Perhaps they will let you go outside later.”

Perhaps. Lindir reached out and rested a hand back against one of the passageway walls, ran his fingers against the smooth surface as he wandered slowly back to the healer. Half way there, he paused on feeling the growing baby suddenly strike out at the inner walls of his womb. He looked down, reached up with his other hand to rest the palm of it on his abdomen. The last trimester was drawing to a close; he had only a few weeks left now. Then he frowned. Oddly, even in this light, when held away from the wall, both of his thin hands still looked... fainter... more transparent. He raised them up to his face, held them aloft before the light.

“Lindir? Is something wrong?”

He blinked and lowered his hands back to his sides. “Nay. Nothing,” he said wearily as he continued walking back to the half-elf. “Nothing. Everything,” he added as he passed him at the doorway.

~*~

Maeglin was in his office, a modestly decorated room located near the back of the treasuries. When Glorfindel visited, the elf was sitting in an armchair beside the wide window and dictating a report to a female scribe, who was sitting at his desk. On seeing him at the door, however, Maeglin immediately rose and dismissed the scribe.

“Lord Glorfindel,” he said, with an amused smirk. “I did not expect to see you so soon.”

“Leave off the sarcasm, Maeglin,” Glorfindel said coldly. “I want an explanation for what you said to me last night.”

“An explanation for what, exactly?” Maeglin leaned back in his chair, smug smile still insitu on his fair face. When Glorfindel's face darkened, he chuckled. “Very well. I will not fan your temper further. But I am curious: why did you come to me and not venture to Ingil or Inglor?”

“Inglor is not in his rooms, according to his butler, and Ingil avoided speaking to me on the subject this morning.”

“Inglor's butler is lying; Inglor is always in his study at this time of day on this day of the week.” Maeglin eyed him thoughtfully. “That is assuming that you did not overlook him in these halls.”

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed. Truly, he had been so focussed on locating Maeglin that he had not thought much to looking around the treasuries. No matter; he could look for his father on his way out. He gazed suspiciously at the younger elf.

“Why are you interested in helping me?” he asked him. “What is in it for you?”

Maeglin did not bat an eyelid. “Less paperwork.” He rose and, as if he had not noticed Glorfindel's darkening gaze, walked towards him and the door. As he reached out to the handle, as if intending to open it and usher Glorfindel out, he yelped when Glorfindel suddenly seized him by the upper arm and shoved him backwards against the door.

“Stop playing with me, Maeglin,” Glorfindel hissed. “What is the real reason?”

Maeglin sneered at him. “Why? What are you going to do if I stop provoking you?” he asked coldly. “Are you going to stall again? Give up again? Stick your head back under that rock? Pretend that everyone here does not know that you care more about yourself than about the spouse that you divorced and abandoned on Mount Taniquetil? That just because he was not strong enough to resist being seduced by Sauron, he does not qualify as your spouse? Is it because he did not kill enough people to match the notch in your belt? Or is it because he did not lie with enough people?”

Glorfindel stared at him. “What does my relationship with Lindir have to do with anything?”

“To someone like me? Everything.”

Confused, Glorfindel released him and stood back. The younger elf, with a wounded glare, cradled his injured arm with his opposing hand and walked back to his desk. He opened a drawer and, after digging around in it for a while, pulled out a fat envelope. He tossed it to Glorfindel, who caught it. “Honestly,” Maeglin growled, “I do not know why you hate your family so much; you are exactly like the rest of them. Now get out.”

Baffled, troubled, Glorfindel left.

~*~

One day, he was alone. The next, Laiglas was in his arms, a squealing, red, ugly bundle of skin and ear-splitting noise. From where he lay on the ward bed, Lindir stared up exhaustedly, incredulously, at the infant that Sauron was deftly drying and wrapping in swaddling. He could not believe it. Even after all this time, all these countless years of being a midwife to changed males, he still could not quite believe that that... baby was his child.

“Hold him,” Sauron suddenly said and held out the infant. Then, when Lindir just stared blankly at him, the maia prompted, “Reach out and take him.”

When Lindir still did not move, the maia exhaled and sat down next to him, reached out and took Lindir's nearest hand, and rested it on the infant's head. At the sensation of warm, soft skin under his hand, at the sight of the bewildered, curious black-eyed gaze of the baby that was staring back at him, Lindir finally stirred enough to smile.

“He is so ugly,” he murmured.

Sauron snorted.

~*~

No sooner had Glorfindel left the treasuries than he secluded himself in one of the alcoves of a nearby garden, ripped open the envelope, and yanked the enclosed parchments out. He stared at them. They were seasonal invoices of Inglor's and Ingil's vaults, invoices that confirmed, exactly as Maeglin had told him the previous evening, that Inglor had been billing Ingil for every single expense that concerned his son since Glorfindel's birth.

He exhaled heavily. This only made him feel more confused. Exactly why was Maeglin so interested in helping him? What did any of this information mean? What was this financial matter that Ingil had avoided explaining to him? Why was Inglor passing off his paternal ex...

He stiffened, eyes widening, a curse slipping from his lips. _Paternal_ expenses.

_Do not come near me, you filthy thing._

_Inglor built this house for Gilraen. It is beautiful, is it not?_

_I visited you when you were a child, usually after your bedtime when you were asleep. It is no surprise, therefore, that you do not recall my face._

_Inglor and Ingil had a falling out... before the separation._

_Inglor just walked out on the both of you one day. Gilraen had a breakdown. Gilraen ordered him to stay away from the both of you._

_Ecthelion started boarding at court at the same time as you, despite the fact that his family lived nearby in the city. Ingil paid for his expenses. Ingil looked as if he was good friends with Ecthelion's sire at the party._

_Ingil and Wilwarin have no children._

_Like your father and you, Ingil also does not get on with the rest of the family._

Numb, hands shaking slightly, he shoved the documents back into the envelope. He stared at the fat package for a while, not really seeing it. Eru, he was so shocked. So... _angry_. The whole family knew about it. Everyone knew. _Everyone._ Everyone except him.

He rose and made his way to the nearest walkway that would lead him swiftly to Inglor's quarters, the quarters at whose door he had allowed himself to be turned away earlier that morning... and innumerable times before. Well... not now.

~*~

“And thus, Luthien swayed Namo's cold heart, and the Vala released Beren from the fate of the Secondborn,” Elladan told the two attentively listening elflings sitting cross-legged before the half-elf on the floor of the near-deserted Hall of Fire. In the light of the flames, their pale skin was coloured warm and red. Lindir, who was sitting beside a nearby pillar and idly listening in, absently admired their soft skin.

“Another epic love tale?” a familiar voice suddenly whispered in his ear. On looking around, Lindir smiled on seeing that Glorfindel had returned. The elf-lord handed him one of the two drinking cups full of frothy hot chocolate that he was holding in his hands.

“Aye,” Lindir replied, blinking slightly when he noticed that he had tears in his eyes from when Elladan had described Finrod's death. “He finished with the tale of Thingol and Melian shortly after you left for the kitchen.” He wiped at his left eye with his free hand when he felt a tear begin to slip down his cheek.

Beside him, Glorfindel chuckled softly and leaned closer to him. “We better ensure that our love story stays free of drama,” he whispered in his ear. “You shed enough tears for others' stories. I would hate to see your reaction should you become personally involved in such a tale.”

Lindir nudged him. “Shut up.” Then, when the elf-lord kissed his ear and gently licked along the edge of it, he gasped and hurriedly put down his drink before he spilt it. “Stop it,” he told the grinning older elf. “There are children here.”

“Aye, and you are the biggest one,” Glorfindel murmured, shifting his lips to Lindir's cheek. “Shall we retire to our bedroom then?”

“You just made cocoa,” Lindir reminded. “It will get cold and I do not wish to drink it on the way.” He picked up his cup and cradled the warm mug in his hands. “Later.” He looked back at Elladan who was beginning another tale, this one about Amroth and Nimrodel. When, a few minutes later, he felt a warm body lean against his side, he looked back and smiled when he saw Glorfindel resting beside him, his arms around his knees, his head on Lindir's shoulder. In that moment, the elf-lord looked like nothing more than a weary youth. Lindir's eyes softened.

_You are as much of a child as I._

~*~

“Is Inglor still away?” Glorfindel asked breezily of the butler on his arrival at the arched entrance to Inglor's quarters. The butler, ever polite, ever apologetic, the same one who Glorfindel remembered as having turned him away from these quarters as a toddler, bowed deeply to him under the archway.

“Prince Inglor has not yet returned to his rooms, Your Lordship.” the elf began. Eyes narrowing, Glorfindel began walking past him. “He is... ai, you cannot go...”

Glorfindel rounded on the shorter elf, who shrank back in surprise and fright. “Now you listen to me, you sycophant,” he said firmly, quietly, warningly. “I know that you are just doing your job and I know that Inglor does not wish to see me. However, _this_ time,” he poked a finger in the elf's chest, “I am going to check that you are telling the truth with my own eyes and _then_ , if Inglor is indeed absent, then I am going to _wait_ for him until he _does_ show up.” Then, with a meaningful glare at the elf, he swung away and continued striding down the passageway to begin his search of the rooms of the suite.

A few moments later, a patter of approaching footsteps behind him told of the butler's decision to not leave him be.

“Would you not prefer to wait in the gardens outside?” the butler asked anxiously. “It is more comfortable...”

“Nay.” Glorfindel quickly scanned the first room, a deserted parlour, then proceeded down the passageway to the next room.

“Perhaps you would like to wait in the parlour? I could fetch you a drink.”

“Nay.” Glorfindel glanced through the dining room, then continued his search.

“Lord Glorfindel, _please_. I will have to call the guards.” There was a note of urgency in the butler's voice now as Glorfindel approached the next door. Glorfindel halted and looked back at him.

“Go on, then,” he said coldly. On seeing the butler pale, he narrowed his eyes. “Go on, then,” he repeated. “Call them. If it is Inglor's wish that I be arrested for trespass, then so be it.”

The butler swallowed and finally, at last, seemed to deflate. Defeated, the elf held up his hands as if pleading for peace between them. “He is in the study.”

Glorfindel's jaw tightened and, after shooting the elf a last glare, swung away again and tried the handle of the door. On finding that it was, indeed, the study, and that the object of his search was sitting writing at the vast wooden desk in the centre of the room, his face darkened.

Inglor looked up then, and, on spying him standing in the doorway, the Prince's face stiffened. The golden haired elf did not, however, look at all surprised to see him.

“What do you want?” he asked. His voice was hard. He did not rise to greet him.

Glorfindel scanned his face with dislike. As he had suspected, as he had feared, Inglor's face was not exactly as he remembered it. Ingil's face had blended with what he had remembered of this elf's face as a child. “Why did you let me continue to believe that I was your son?” he asked.

Inglor gazed at his angry face for a long while. Then, abruptly, he put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and looked away, at the open windows that looked over the northern side of the city, at the view of Mount Taniquetil, at the kingdom that nestled at the foot of that mountain. Distantly, Glorfindel could smell the scent of winter niphredils, which he had seen beginning to bloom in the gardens outside.

Inglor spoke then. “If the decision had been up to me alone, then I would have annulled the marriage and cast both Gilraen and you out of the house,” he said. His voice was flat, distant. “Instead, Ingwe ordered me to remain in Tirion with the both of you and maintain the charade. When, later, living with Gilraen and having to endure Ingil's constant visits and their fornicating before me became completely intolerable, as she requested, I removed myself from the house.”

“When did you realise that I was Ingil's son?”

“When she became pregnant.” Inglor glanced sidelong back at him. “The only other male close to her was Ingil. I was away when she begot you.” He looked back at the view.

“And the decision to send me away to boarding school?”

“An action I took – with the family's approval – to overrule Ingil's attempt to take you away to Koromas and have you privately tutored there... and to also reduce your contact with Gilraen.”

“So you did it to hurt them.”

Inglor looked coldly back at him. “There was no other way for me to hurt them except through the control that I had over you.”

“You almost killed Gilraen.”

Inglor's eyes narrowed. “I loved that woman...” he said icily. “I endured eight years of her inviting Ingil into my house. I would have endured more if they had not resumed cuckolding me under my own roof, if she had not started to defy me both before and behind my face, if she had not begun to taunt me with your presence and growing attachment to Ingil. She had already betrayed me; how much more was I expected to take?”

Glorfindel, unable to think of something to say, said nothing.

In his chair, Inglor presently exhaled and, straightening, took up his pen. “So,” he said, his voice quieter, abruptly more bland, “are you going to continue to scandalise the family and claim your inheritance as son of the Crown Prince? It is worth it, financially, I assure you.”

Glorfindel frowned. “You want me to do it,” he realised after a pause.

“Oh, aye, I am the one who sent you that envelope, after all. Although... I would appreciate it if you did not link the grapevine of information back to me.” Here, Inglor jerked his chin at the envelope that Glorfindel still held in his hand, the one that Maeglin had given to him. On being reminded of Maeglin, Glorfindel's frown deepened.

“Why Maeglin?”

“I taught him what he knows in the treasuries,” Inglor replied. “Also, he has a soft spot for former thralls. He took your divorce from Lindir almost personally and follows the gossip surrounding your recent activities incessantly; I imagine many like him are similarly disappointed.” He pointed the drying nib of his pen at him. “You are not in the small Noldorin refuge of Imladris now, Glorfindel. This is Elvenhome and you are the Vanyarin Crown Prince's son, Ingwe's eldest grandson who, I might add, was up until very recently married to Sauron's favourite lover. Everyone – and I do mean _everyone_ – is watching you.”

Chapter 60 – Elfling Rescuers

First came Laiglas, then came Lindo. And then, one dreary day in Linden's first term, when Sauron was absent from Dol Guldur, his eldest – Laiglas – who had been in a sullen sort of mood ever since Sauron had left, came scrambling back into their cell via the ventilation shaft through which he had disappeared not long earlier, and announced that there was an intruder in the fortress.

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Lindir asked doubtfully after hearing the elfling's announcement. He had been dozing when the boy had returned and was still sleepy. “And where is Lindo? You did not leave him behind again, I hope?”

“The intruder knocked out a guard patrol and threw their bodies into one of the rubbish pits,” Laiglas said, ignoring his second question.

“He was wearing a big grey hat, had a long grey beard, carried a staff, and there was a big gold ring with a ruby in it on his hand,” a higher voice added from the direction of the ventilation shaft. Moments later, a toddler crawled to the edge and Laiglas, rising, went over to help him down.

“See?” Laiglas stated, looking back at Lindir, who yawned.

“Yes, yes, I believe you,” Lindir said wearily. “A wizard. So long as neither of you were also hurt.”

“He saw us,” Lindo said as he jumped down from Laiglas' arms. In the darkness, he sounded excited. “Laiglas told him how to rescue us.”

“Rescue...” Lindir stared at them, now very much awake. “You _are_ jesting, are you not?”

“Nay. I thought that was what you wanted,” Laiglas said, looking at him chastisingly. “You keep on asking for Him to release us. So I told the stranger how to reach the door and undo the locks.” Lindir stared at his expression. Under that black-eyed gaze, he felt remarkably... ashamed. Of late, Laiglas at times had shown an alarming maturity. It worried him, it was the exact reason why he _had_ been asking Sauron – on the rare occasion that he did see the lord – to release the boys. Already, Sauron had delayed in taking his children away from him, but for how much longer? Not forever, that was sure. Neither did Lindir wish for his children, who were spending increasing amounts of time away from him outside the locked cell – outside of his reach – to grow up in this place.

“It _is_ what I want for you,” Lindir assured quietly. “I was just surprised at the suddenness of the news that we may soon escape this place.”

Laiglas nodded and, the odd light fading from his eyes, he smiled at Lindir, then went over to Lindo and crouched down before his baby brother. “Come on,” he told the toddler. “Let us pack up our treasures so that when the wizard comes, we are ready to go.”

~*~

In his cell in Manwe's halls, Lindir stirred from slumber at the feel of someone – most likely Elrond – touching his wrist, taking his pulse. After a while, the hand, surprisingly warm, shifted to stroke the back of his hand. On focussing his eyes, he observed the half-elf's face and noticed, to his bemusement, confusion and anxiety colouring the grave grey eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, unused to seeing such strong emotion in the half-elf's eyes. Usually, the healer dampened his expressions with a near-constant mask of neutrality.

Elrond looked at him; the expression in the healer's eyes dulled slightly, but did not disappear; he still looked worried.

“Your temperature has dropped,” he said. He reached out to touch his fingertips, which were almost uncomfortably hot, against Lindir's forehead. “Do you feel cold?”

“Nay.”

Elrond stared at him for a few moments longer, his eyes searching Lindir's face anxiously.

Finally, Elrond nodded, as if he had come to some decision, and turned away to venture over to the chest that stood at the end of the bed. On opening it, he pulled out four thick blankets and, slinging three of them onto the end of the bed, began the task of unfolding each and covering Lindir up with the extra layers.

~*~

When Glorfindel returned to his house that afternoon, he discovered that Halmir had left on a day trip to Alqualonde to visit his daughter and grandson. On hearing the housekeeper's words, he smiled, his clouded mood lifted somewhat by the news.

“At least something positive has come out of this mess,” he muttered as he made his way up the stairs to wash. All he needed to do now was confront Ingil; find Laiglas; somehow kill both dark lords, Manwe, and Eonwe too; and rescue Lindir; and then employ Lady Este to heal the elf's mind. He laughed sourly as he climbed into his bath.

It was late afternoon when, clean and dressed, and writing a response to one of Estel's letters, which told of no change in the continuing search for Laiglas, he heard Ingil finally return to the house. He straightened and left the study to go to the landing and look down at the prince, who was giving his cloak to the door warden. On seeing him standing there, Ingil smiled up at him.

“I apologise for leaving so swiftly this morning,” he said.

“No matter,” Glorfindel replied. He turned and began making his way down the stairwell towards the older elf. “I went and spoke to Inglor instead.”

“You spoke to Inglor?” Ingil's face clouded. Suddenly, he looked wary.

“Aye.”

“And...” Ingil hesitated, looking noticeably awkward. He glanced around the entrance hall, at the doorwarden and housekeeper who were looking on, but pretending not to look too interested, “...what did you talk about together? Should we discuss this in a more private setting?”

“There is no need.” Glorfindel eyed him closely as he neared the ground floor. “We talked about the curious fact that my sire is not in fact he, but. You.” He timed the last word so that it exactly matched with when he arrived level with the other elf, who had paled on hearing his last words. Across from them, the door warden inhaled sharply – air hissing loudly between his teeth.

Ingil glanced at the servants, then looked back at Glorfindel. “He told you?”

“Nay. I confronted him after confirming my suspicions elsewhere.” Glorfindel smiled thinly. “He did me the courtesy of not denying my discovery. He also told me things about _you_ that were less than complimentary.”

“I am sure.” Ingil glanced back at the servants, then, pursing his lips, strode forward and took him by the arm. “Come. You are thinking rashly; there is no call for a public displ...” He suddenly ducked, eyes widening in fright, face paling, the rest of the word disappearing into silence when Glorfindel yanked his arm out of his grip and raised the limb as if to strike him. “Now, now, now,” he breathed, his voice trembling now. “There is no need to hit me.”

Glorfindel glared at him. “You think I would waste my energy on striking you?” he snarled. “You ruined Gilraen. And you would try to get me to trust you whilst continuing to lie.”

“The family...”

“Do not _family_ me. I never _had_ a family when I grew up. Inglor hated me, Gilraen regretted me, and you – you continued to lie with her behind Inglor's back – continued to try to poison her minds with dreams of living with you. If you _had cared_ , you would have visited the house during daylight hours when I was awake, you would not have stood for allowing Inglor to raise me, you would have taken your sins and worn them, regardless of the consequences.”

Ingil said nothing. The Prince's shoulders were still slightly hunched; he was staring at him in fear. Suddenly, as Glorfindel stared at the frightened elf's face, he saw what the House of Ingwe really was. A house of ambitious, cowardly, sycophants. Blessed to the Ainur not because the Vanyar were a greater, purer race, but because there was no House more willing to pander to the whims of the Valar for their perceived protection.

There really was no House weaker.

Drained. Disgusted, both with the elf standing before him, the House whose name he took, and himself, Glorfindel lowered his arm. “Enough,” he said quietly. “I do not care about the wrath of Ingwe's House. I will make this public; all of it.”

“They will not believe you.”

Glorfindel snorted. “Not everyone, certainly. The Noldor and a few thousand former thralls are enough for me, however,” He turned away and strode over to the housekeeper to request his cloak. After donning it, he touched the servant lightly on the arm. “Keep a loose tongue,” he instructed. “I am off to spread some gossip.” Then, winking at the elf's hesitant smile, he turned and left the house.

~*~

“Nay, nay, hush. You must not draw attention to me. Your sons directed me here.”

Lindir quieted, but continue to stare warily at the wizened old man standing before him at the open door of his cell. Laiglas, who had disappeared alone through the ventilation shaft not long ago, was standing at the man's side.

Initially, when Lindir had set eyes on the man, he had been unsure if he was dreaming and lost in yet another strange convoluted maze of his broken mind. On first glance at the hundreds of wrinkles in the thin and loose facial skin, the human looked old beyond the lifespan of any man that Lindir had ever met before in his life. But then, as he gazed further and deeper into the concerned eyes, he saw a strange brightness and energy that felt far younger than he himself felt in his bones.

He felt himself even more justified, therefore, in demanding of the man, this supposed chance at freedom, an answer to the question: “Who are you?”

“His name is Mithrandir,” Laiglas replied, before the man could answer. That strange, chastising look had returned to the elfling's eyes. “As Lindo and I told you, we saw him wandering the pits. He comes from the world outside, the world of light where He does not live, and can take us back with him.”

Lindir stared at him, unsure of how to respond to such a statement. He looked back at the odd man and scanned the tattered grey robe, long beard and knotted staff. The speed with which the man's eyes scrutinised him in turn was not lost on him. When he noticed that gaze alight on the toddler who was standing slightly to one side of Lindir and gazing curiously at the man and his older brother, Lindir bent slightly, awkwardly with his slightly swollen belly, to take Lindo's hand and hold it tight, thus securing at least one child to his side in strength against this unknown entity.

“Does Laiglas speak truly?” he asked then, looking back at their visitor.

“Aye, he does speak truly. I was sent to Dol Guldur to investigate the activities of the Necromancer and to confirm as to whether or not he is indeed the same entity, Sauron, who controlled Mordor in the Second Age of the Sun, and who was thought defeated in the Battle of Dagorlad.”

Second Age of the Sun... Dagorlad... Lindir had heard faint news that the Age was now the Third Age of the Sun, but he had never heard of a Battle of Dagorlad. Had there been a war at the mouth of Mordor, then? At the mouth of that region built in mockery of Valinor's own shores? As for the name Necromancer, he had heard that name spoken by other thralls. He had never paid it much attention. Sauron had many nicknames amongst his body of minions. He had assumed “Necromancer” was yet another one of these labels. Apparently, however, the name was not exclusive to insiders of the fortress. Indeed, it seemed as if Sauron's name had – at some time – become estranged from this new name. There had to be a reason for this masking of Sauron's identity. Perhaps it would be wise for him to also estrange himself from that name.

“Unfortunately,” Mithrandir continued then, his voice weary, “he has eluded this attempt of mine to meet with him.” He looked at Lindir. “For how long have you been a thrall of this hellish place?”

Lindir thought back to how he had heard other thralls describe their origins. “Long enough for me to not know the answer to that question,” he said finally.

Laiglas suddenly turned and looked boldly up at Mithrandir, showing the fearlessness with which he must have initially approached the strange man. “Are you able to help us to flee?”

“We can always try,” was the response. Mithrandir looked at Lindir. “Laiglas said that he would lead me to his mother. Is she nearby?”

Lindir looked quizzically at Laiglas. The boy gazed back solemnly, as if he was truly innocent of the strangeness of his label for his parent. Unsure of whether or not to believe that the youngster had used the term of address mistakenly, Lindir just looked back at Mithrandir. “I am the mother,” he stated. “Laiglas is referring to me.”

~*~

Lindir stared at his right hand. He had drawn it up out from where it had been lying beneath the heavy coverlets to scratch his nose. It still looked faded. He held it up slightly, flexed it before the late afternoon light that was streaming through the window. At the tips of his fingers, he could see the edges of the window through the skin and flesh.

He looked at Elrond, who had drawn his chair close to the bed. The half-elf had spread the playing cards out upon the top of the blankets and was passing the time with some game that Lindir could not see and did not care enough about to sit up and investigate. Neither did he think that Elrond was particularly absorbed in the game either; indeed, there was a sadness, a listlessness in the half-elf's face that made it plain that the healer's mind was elsewhere.

After a few moments, Elrond sensed Lindir's stare and raised his eyes to gaze back at him.

“What is wrong with my hands?” Lindir asked. He watched the half-elf's gaze flick down to the hand that Lindir had been recently scrutinising; it was currently resting on the top of the coverlets. After staring at the limb for a short while, Elrond met his gaze a second time.

“I am not certain,” he said quietly. “I have only seen it once before.”

“What happened?”

“It was... different.” The half-elf hesitated, then looked back at the outspread cards. “I intend to consult Eonwe and Faramir on it when I next see them. In the meantime, try to sleep.”

Unappeased, but knowing that Elrond did not wish to tell him more, and not sure that he wished to hear the healer's speculations, Lindir slipped his hand back under the coverlets and rolled over to face away from the half-elf. This time he shut his eyes, welcoming darkness over reality, almost hoping that a dream – or some distant memory, however horrific, however painful – would take him this time. This sensation of feeling nothing was all too unbearable.

Chapter 61 – Birth and Death

It hurt to wait. It hurt to watch the sun wax and wane, and then to endure the moon's cycle as he tossed and turned alone in their bed. Some nights, Lindir preferred to sit on the balcony of his and Glorfindel's rooms, to sit beside the balustrades and wrap his arms around his knees. It would be cold out there, high up in the house, but even so he never bothered to wear an extra layer. He welcomed the icy slash of the wintry wind across his bare limbs. The pain, for a brief time, numbed him and in doing so, for a few moments – however brief – he could fancy himself knowing something of Glorfindel's feelings up north as the elf-lord battled the Witch King's armies.

At times, on clear nights, he could even see the darkness on the horizon. At times, when he saw the red clouds come, he wondered if the elf-lord's fortune at outliving so many of his students had at last run out.

More war, more blood soaked fields, more screams, more pain, more sightless eyes and bodies lying rotting in the open air.

And then the wind, brought down by Manwe, chilled by Eonwe, would dive straight through his body and he would feel, at last... not better, but for a moment, unable to think for the pain of that cold. And as the chill slipped away yet again he would think once more to himself that yes, he could endure just sitting on the sidelines and waiting. He could endure knowing that when Glorfindel finally returned, assuming the elf-lord did do so, that there would be fewer elves marching with him.

Why was it, that despite all that he had done and seen, despite all the blood that clung to his hands, he still could not completely shut himself off from... feeling?

~*~

Lindir dreamed that he was standing on the summit of Mount Taniquetil. He was wearing a blue tunic and white stockings. His blue shoes were half sunk in the fresh snow about his feet, but for some reason he could not feel the cold. His pregnant belly had disappeared and his front was flat. He felt light, giddily so.

From the angle of the sunlight, he determined that it was mid-morning, but strangely, there was no one in sight and not a sound to be heard. Not even the sound of the wind as it wound its way idly around and between the silent buildings, as it tickled stray leaves that it had blown up from the elven valleys far below.

He looked around, at the tall halls of Eonwe that he could see standing nearby across the snowy garden, then off to where he could see the edge of the summit, where the white turned abruptly into blue sky and the jagged horizon of the Pelori Mountains on all sides.

Outside of the dream, he knew he would have chosen to walk away from Eönwë's halls, chosen any house but those or Manwë's halls. But it was a dream and he was not in control and so he found himself walking towards the heavy front doors.

He knocked and they opened soundlessly before him. As he gazed down the hallway that stretched before him, with its endless sheer walls and floors of ice, with the downward pointing blades inset in the ceiling that threatened at any time to strike an intruder down, he was struck by how at ease he felt standing there, staring into this house of waking nightmare, this den of trauma and deceit. This house that he once had hated yet, oddly, felt no hatred towards at this time, in this dream.

He reached out and felt the wall. Against his fingers, it did not feel cold. It did not feel like ice. If anything, it felt warm to him, alive, breathing...

Something else felt warmer, hot, burningly so. A hand to his back, a fleeting touch, but still enough to hurt. He flinched, turned, and stared at the maia standing there. It was Silmo, that child-like servant of Irmo, Lord of Dreams. It felt like an eternity since he had last seen him.

The dark haired child was staring at him in confusion. Strangely, the maia looked frightened.

“What are you doing here?” he heard Silmo say to him. Yet, strangely, he could not see the maia's lips moving as he spoke. He knew, however, that it was Silmo who had ventured the question. He recognised the voice in his head. Soft and sweet, it caressed his mind, smelt like cypress, fragile like the crumpled leaves of budding poppies.

More bewildering to him was his own response to Silmo's enquiry. “I live here now,” he replied, though he did not hear himself speak. “At least, I think... I feel that I do.”

Silmo, his eyes widening, shook his head violently, reached out and took Lindir by the hand. His touch burned. Lindir squirmed away, cried out in pain as he felt his skin sear beneath the other's touch, but Silmo did not release him.

“Not yet,” the Maia told him quietly, firmly. “You do not live here yet. I will not let you linger here. You will dream something else now. You may dream of the future, but dream not of this fate. You are not yet one of us. A deal will shortly be made; this will not be your fate.”

Lindir stirred from his slumber, saw Eönwë standing near the bed and speaking to Elrond. Elrond looked tired and distressed. Eonwe looked... oddly, concerned. Lindir turned over on the bed and fell into another dream.

There was an annoying ringing in his ears. Lindir shook his head against the pillow and opened his eyes to find himself standing in a large, white, sunlit room. An elven room. On looking around, he saw great, white shapes: furniture, covered with sheets. Beneath him, the white tiled floor was covered with dust. He could see the imprint of feet in the dust; booted feet. Were they his?

He looked around towards the source of the light. Enormous, wall length windows that looked out onto an immense, overgrown lawn. Beyond them, a vast stone terrace that looked out upon lower Tirion. He was in a house on the hill of Tirion; nay, an ancient mansion. He scanned the glittering buildings beyond the terrace; gold and white and silver under the afternoon sun. He could not hear the city through the sealed glass, but he could feel the life in it almost as if the distant crowds gathered on the market streets, black specks to his eyes, were in the same room as him. They pushed and shoved and caused the very air around him to become hot and sweaty and tremulous. Soon, it hurt to stand amongst them; it seemed so long since he had stood as one of them on the streets of Tirion, perusing the stalls and casting his eyes greedily across the mountains of plump fruit, shining vegetables, breads and meats. Their voices seemed so loud now. Why did they shout so? Why did they have to stand so close to him; so close that the air throbbed between them and he could feel their body heat and perspiration without touching them? He covered his ears with his hands to no avail. At last, he had to turn away and flee the white room.

There was a stairwell in the vast hall beyond, a vast entrance from whose roof hung long chandeliers, their crystals like tear drops. Whether with joy or despair, the house seemed to be crying.

Lindir looked at the vast tapestries on the walls of the hallway. He recognised the family within – the House of Ingwe. There stood Ingwe, the Queen, Glorfindel, and what he took to be Glorfindel's father, uncle and aunt. Although, as with Silmo, he could not see their mouths move, oddly he could hear them speaking... if to him, their voices, ensnared in the woven threads, were too soft for him to understand. He strained to listen, but their voices remained too hushed, too distant for him to perceive. Frustrated, disappointed, he turned away and looked up the long stairs, up at the white lofty roof, up to where the golden light careened down towards the floor of the hall from the gold etched windows, up at the closed doors on the above landings.

He longed to climb those stairs. He berated himself for longing to climb them. He was no longer a part of Glorfindel's life; there was no choice in the matter. Why was he dreaming this dream? He looked down at the floor, down at his absent body. There was no child, not anymore; he felt as if it had been born long ago. Or was yet to be born. He did not know. There were no hands, no feet with which to leave footprints. Those footprints were not his. They belonged to someone else. Maybe they belonged to Glorfindel. Maybe not.

The ringing in his ears grew louder. He could hear the choir's singing now, their words strange to his ears, an alien tongue. The discordant harmonies sent ripples of pain through his ears. So sweet, so seductive in its freedom, so careless, so carefree, so limitless in what it promised, in what it could do...

He heard a scream, a frightened, pained sound. A familiar voice. His. He opened his eyes and saw that he was back in Manwë's halls, in his cell, on his bed. The ringing was still in his ears, though softer now. He could no longer discern the music. He could smell athelas. He could see Elrond's worried face, feel the half-elf's hand – hot like a blazing fire – upon his frozen one. The blankets upon his body felt heavy and thick – too heavy, too thick. His cheeks felt wet with tears. His ears, too, felt wet. On turning his head, he saw blood upon the pillow. He looked back at Elrond, looked down at the hand burning his own barely visible one, looked down at his swollen abdomen beneath the blankets.

This was not death, he realised then. He had seen death overcome others. This was not death. This was not the cold of a dying body. His body was changing, not dying. His body was not breaking down, but turning into something else entirely. Lindir looked at Elrond and realised that he, too, had seen that case of fading to which Elrond had referred. On the banks of the Bruinen. Frodo. Glorfindel had borne the hobbit forth. The knife with which the halfling had been stabbed had almost overcome and transformed him into another wraith, another bond-servant of Melkor and Sauron. Had that shard reached his heart, it would have done so indeed.

There was no knife shard for him. There was nothing for Elrond to cut out, but it was now only a matter of time for him too. Just as it had overcome the Nine Kings of Men, so it would take him too. It explained the ringing in his ears and the cooling of his body.

Elrond spoke then. “It will progress swiftly; the transformation will be complete very soon. I will have to induce the birth.” The half-elf's voice was strange, louder than normal, richer and more coloured with subtleties of tone than Lindir recalled. He heard regret, worry, bitterness, hopelessness, and anger. Was that what Manwë and Eönwë heard when they listened to him? Did they hear the thoughts in his head as voices too?

His ears hurt. His heart and body hurt; his skin ached everywhere the cloying blanket touched. Glorfindel was gone. Elrond and Faramir would soon be beyond him. In his ears, he had lost the strains of the choir. He would hear it again soon, though; that was one comfort. Very soon now, if Elrond spoke truly. After then, who knew? Would he even be aware of himself then? Would he understand then the words in the music?

Elrond leaned over him and moments later, Lindir felt the coverlets removed and the sting of a needle in his back. Now his abdomen and lower body felt numb. His mind floated away. Distantly, he was aware of something cutting away at his abdomen, of Eonwe looking on, of a newborn being induced to take it's first breathe. He heard it cry. He was sure that he did. He was sure that it was a boy.

When next his eyes focussed and he stirred from his slumber, he was alone. Elrond had gone. Faramir had gone. Even Eonwe. He looked down at his flat abdomen, at the smooth skin, free of scars, free of... that other life. Then, suddenly shaking, he curled up and covered his face with his hands.

It was done. That ordeal was ended. So why was he... crying? Why could he still feel?

~*~

On returning to Erestor's quiet study, one hand still clutching the ends of the necklace's crystals, Lindir found Annatar sitting at his desk. It was late afternoon and the lord, like the room, was cast in the warm, golden sheen of Arien's slanted rays. Annatar sat on Lindir's chair, one elbow propped on the clear table top, his eyes gazing thoughtfully out of the windows at something that Lindir could not see. The lord looked at peace. Struck by the beauty of the sight, and by the bliss of the silence, Lindir halted at the doorway, his intended words of thanks dying on his lips.

What had he done to deserve such generosity? Such kindness? Such a friend?

Moments passed, and then, as a thought occurred to him, he smiled faintly.

Whatever the reason, whatever it was about him that had so caught the other's eye, he would do his utmost to return that kindness. He would not make Annatar regret their friendship. Never, he promised.

~*~

The wind tickled his face, stroked his skin almost as if it... cared. Lindir stirred from slumber again and, his eyes focussing, stared across the room at the source of the draught.

The window was open. Wide open.

Linden blossoms danced across the sill. In the distance, white clouds obscured his view of the mountains.

Numbly, he rose from the bed. His legs felt weak, but they did not tremble. The fading had gone; his body was whole again. He held onto the bedside table as he walked towards the draught, then the table, then the chair, and then at last he was standing before the exit... the entrance... this other kind of portal.

He crawled onto the sill and sat there on the edge. He stared down at the thick clouds that obscured the summit and valleys below. The white thready mass looked so soft. They looked... so still, so deep.

His hair flapped around his face, fluttered into his eyes, into his mouth. On inhaling, the air smelt faintly of linden blossoms. He missed seeing those trees.

 _No matter,_ he thought then. _I will see them again soon, if only for a little while._

Then he pushed off.

Chapter 62: Epilogue

In the autumn of the following year, Lord Glorfindel, son of Ingil, woke shortly before dawn and, finding himself unable to return to sleep, rose from his bed and, after washing and dressing, made his way quietly downstairs to partake of an early breakfast.

He was just passing the entrance hall when, as he nodded at the door warden who returned the gesture, there came a soft knock on the door. As it opened, Glorfindel smiled in surprise and pleasure on seeing none other than Iestir, son of Gildor, standing there on the doorstep in a hooded cloak.

“Hail Iestir,” he said. “It has been a long time.” He had not seen the elf since the funeral. “What news of the Orphanage?”

“Good news... and bad,” Iestir replied as he pushed his hood back from his dark-haired head. He unclasped his cloak and, shrugging it off his shoulders, handed it to the warden who took it with a low bow. “Those who were witnesses have all returned now and, like everyone else, we impatiently await the conclusion of the trial and the announcement of the defendant's sentence.”

“And?” Glorfindel prompted as he gestured for the elf to follow him down a nearby passageway, towards one of the sitting rooms where they might talk in more comfort and privacy.

“And Lindir has returned.”

On hearing that, Glorfindel stilled.

For a long while, neither spoke. In the ensuing quiet, they could hear the soft chatter of stirring servants and the clatter of plates in the kitchen. Outside the windows that lined the passageway, the wind rustled gently through the arms of the sapling linden trees that Glorfindel had planted almost a year ago... after returning from Lindir's grave. At that time, many elves of Tirion – hundreds, in fact – had offered him their condolences, both publicly and privately. 

Glorfindel finally stirred. “How is he?” he asked quietly, a bit hesitantly.

“Not well. You should see him.”

~*~

Another bed. Another unfamiliar ceiling. Another window.

From where he sat in the armchair, Lindir stared absently through the glass at the windows on the other side of the Orphanage's crevasse, at the flickering lights and moving shadows. Across from him, Estel had fallen silent long ago, having swiftly realised that today, Lindir was not interested in conversing with him.

Lindir did not mean to be rude. He was just... tired. He watched the shadows. They reminded him of Mandos, of when he had awoken in the darkness and silence. When he had first awoken there, he had thought that he was still in his cell in Mordor and that it had all been a long dream, a long nightmare, a long – wonderful, horrible – fantasy... that was still to finish, but which held some hope of a brighter end... a simpler end.

But then he had heard Eonwe's voice.

“What is it like to die?”

The maia's voice had been oddly soft.

Lindir considered the question. He thought back to his memory of falling, of the whistling air, of the clouds dissipating around his plummeting body, of the slashing wind against his cheeks, of his fluttering limbs, of the looming stony mountain side that had come at him like a striking snake.

“Pain... and then like a dreamless sleep.” A good sleep. He regretted waking up. Somehow, he had thought that being one of the Houseless entailed being aware of one's surroundings. Not so, apparently. Or at least, it had not been so for him. “I thought you said that I could not die.”

“Laiglas – nay, _Sauron_ and Laiglas both – bargained with Aule for your release from my lord's service.”

Lindir had stirred then. He had sat up in the darkness. His body had felt strange to him. Thinner, smaller, weaker... colder. Yet... also, strangely, more whole... more _right_. “...You found Sauron?”

“Before you left Dol Guldur, Sauron entered Laiglas' body in order to contribute to the raising of the children that he had sired with his lord. After the birth, he agreed to re-enter Aule's service on the condition of your release and resurrection. He now works on the cure for the male pregnancy curse that he once created with Lord Melkor.”

Lindir had said nothing to that; indeed, he was unsure if he was not still lingering in some dream, in some corner of that mad imagination that sometimes overwhelmed him in such darkness. His eyes had drifted, sightlessly across the endless blackness. Then he had closed them. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted to sleep forever.

“Lindir?” That was Estel's voice. Lindir reopened his eyes. Most of the windows outside were dark now. It had to be night time. He wondered what the time had been when he had last been awake.

His brother suddenly drew near and set a tray down, its underside cushioned, on his lap. On it, he set a small bowl of thin brown broth. Then the older elf unfolded a napkin and, his fingers warm and nimble, tied it gently around Lindir's neck. Before he retreated, Estel paused to stroke his brow with his palms and kiss him gently.

“Try to eat,” he whispered then, his voice soft, worried, wearied, but still not frustrated – despite the many days of this replayed scene that had passed since he had found and brought Lindir here. “I will sit nearby with my own meal.”

For a few moments, Lindir stared absently at the broth, at the spoon lying quiescent beside the carven bowl. He appreciated that Estel no longer tried to force the spoon down his throat as he had once done. Then, his attention drifting, he looked back at the darkened windows outside. Despite the darkness, it was still not dark enough. It was still not silent enough. Even in this low light, even in this quiet, he still felt uneasy.

“What _do_ you want, Lindir?” Estel asked softly. Lindir wondered vaguely from where his brother had learned the patience. There had to be a story behind it, longer than his own, in accordance with Estel's older age. This place, this Orphanage, was beautiful. He wished that he had taken the time to view it shortly after he had first come to Valinor. He was too tired to properly explore and admire it now.

“Why did you return, if you do not wish to live?” Estel continued. “Why are you still alive, even after all these weeks of not eating or drinking?”

Lindir looked back at the thin, still liquid of the broth in the bowl. The carvings that wound their way around the edge and sides of the light brown-grey wood depicted the Two Trees: Laurelin and Telperion. A time when Melkor had walked freely in Valinor. A time early on in Melkor's and Sauron's long partnership. Before Annatar. Before the experiments had started. Before they had merged together and for a time, become one entity.

“I...” His voice sounded faint to his ears, as if it came from a distance. “...wonder the same thing.”

“Pardon?”

Lindir opened his mouth, tried to draw up enough energy to repeat himself, then, defeated, exhaled and leaned back in the armchair against the deep pillows. He did not know. He did not know anything anymore.

“I sent Iestir to fetch Glorfindel; they should arrive soon. Perhaps he will help to brighten your mood,” Estel said suddenly, bracingly. He sounded, to Lindir, as if he was saying it more for himself than for Lindir.

Estel kept talking, but Lindir stopped listening. He thought again of Eonwe's words to him as the maia had escorted him out of the Halls of Waiting, when he had asked the maia the exact same question that Estel had just ventured to him.

“In accordance with Melkor's agreement with you, through the process of resurrection, your body has been restored to its rightful state and sex. Soon, the cure will be complete and your sons will also be freed of the affliction.”

Lindir, who had been shivering slightly in the cold air, had looked down the rocky, sloping path that extended from the steps of Mandos on which they stood. Then he had looked back at the cavernous entrance to the Halls. They still lay open, a round, huge, gaping, hole in the mountainside. He had been tempted to walk back inside, but Eonwe stood between it and him. In elvish form, the maia stood tall, clad in white and blue, his silver hair waving gently in the chill breeze. His blue eyes were as cold as ever, but – somehow – the dislike seemed less immediate. Indeed, the other's expression was distant. Lindir understood. He had been dismissed. He had done his job and now was no longer wanted. Cast aside, yet again. The look in the herald of Manwe's eyes was apathy born of a new estrangement.

No matter. He was used to that.

He thought of the child. He opened his mouth to ask about it, and then – suddenly realising that he did not really want to know about a child in whose life he would play no further role – asked a different question.

“Why am I alive?”

“It was Laiglas' and Sauron's request that you be released and resurrected should you attempt to kill yourself.”

“What if I do not wish to live?”

“Then you know what to do.” Then the maia had faded away. After a few moments, the doors of Mandos swung soundlessly shut.

Lindir had not seen the maia since then. Alone, not quite sure that he had made the right decision to not return to the Halls, he had wandered eastwards until a group of elves had come across him and led to him the Orphanage. There, Estel, his brother stunned, laughing and weeping at the same time, had embraced him.

~*~

Through the window of the gently shuddering carriage, Glorfindel watched the green countryside slowly slip away under a grey cloak of rain and mist. Then, when he could no longer discern anything beyond the heavy cloud, he looked back at Iestir.

The elf had awoken, he noticed. Across from him, Iestir caught his absent gaze and smiled warmly.

“Estel told me that you met with his and Lindir's parents,” he ventured.

Glorfindel snorted and smiled faintly. “Aye, but it is thanks to Gloredhel and Lindo that I made their acquaintance,” he said. “Talagant and his lady are not the same ambitious elves who sent their children – alone – to be tutored far away at Forlond's court, but despite their longing to see their eldest son, they still hesitate at the thought of journeying west to visit the Orphanage.”

“If one was not born amongst former thralls, if acceptance of us was not forced upon one, then I I can understand that we might appear frightening and all too confronting to even think about, let alone to eat with, let alone to visit in our ghetto-like villages... close to Mandos. One needs to be of the type who is not enamoured of the sedate, close-minded, monotonous life afforded by Elvenhome. One needs to be restless; ever-searching, ever-exploring, ever... longing to live outside this blessed, beautiful cage with its Pelori bars; ever-willing to embrace change. Perhaps that is why Melkor exists in the world.”

Across from him, Glorfindel's smile widened, a pensive look entering the elf-lord's eyes. “Perhaps indeed.”

“You are closer to accepting Lindir's relationship with him now, then?”

“Aye. I still love Lindir; I accept that fact now. My love for him has always remained constant, but I let my feelings become clouded. I was weak at that time.”

“We are all fallible. No one, no matter how old, how strong, how experienced, can escape weakness.”

“I understand that, but it is no small struggle to forgive oneself for some errors.”

Iestir laughed. “True. “Did you ever try to take another lover?”

“Nay. I thought of it, but in the end, I could never take that final step.” Glorfindel exhaled heavily and looked back at the grey mist that pressed down on all sides of the carriage. “I married the right elf.” He smiled ruefully. “Unfortunately, I divorced the wrong one.” He laughed then – quietly, a little sadly. Across from him, Iestir chuckled sympathetically.

~*~

Sometimes, if it was dark enough, if it was quiet enough in the house, Lindir could almost imagine that he could still hear the choir singing. As he watched the shadows passing over the ceiling, he would fancy himself floating across the notes, across the heaving rise and fall of each chorister's breath.

Always, increasingly, he looked for that discordant note, he searched for that change in the theme that would mark a new rhythm, a new key... Sometimes it would lead to something glorious, something terrible, something wonderful, something that brought tears to his eyes and made him shudder – cause his weak body to tremble in the darkness of his room in the Orphanage.

Sometimes, it would lead to... nothing special. Just another droop in the melody, just a repeat of what he had heard before... just another version of the same. Yet even the monotony was still beautiful in and of its own right. Change came with endings, after all, and sometimes it was painful to say goodbye. Even if it was... just a tune.

Glorfindel's coming to the Orphanage brought a change as discordant, as wonderful as Melkor's first song. One day, the golden-haired elf was not there and it was just he, Lindir, in the quiet bedroom. Then, the next, Glorfindel was sitting at a low chair beside his bed and holding his cold hand in his own warm ones.

Glorfindel's first words were completely unexpected, and yet, they were exactly what Lindir realised he had been waiting to hear ever since he had – listlessly, uncertainly – turned away from the doors of Mandos and made his way back into Elvenhome.

“Would you like to see Melkor?” Glorfindel asked him. His voice was soft. It was warm. It was accepting and without judgement. It was... truly what Lindir wanted to hear.

~*~

One month later found Glorfindel sitting alone beneath a naked tree on a familiar stretch of snow-covered greensward outside Ingwe's halls. Now that the trial had ended, the cycle of the four seasons had returned to this part of Valinor. No longer was the air heavy with the sweet scent of linden blossoms. No longer was it warm. Now it was white and cold.

An icy wind suddenly breezed across the snow and the frozen over stream by which he had farewelled Lindir twice now in the company of the maia Silmo. On this occasion, however, Lindir had looked vastly more at peace. This time, the younger elf had smiled back at him as he had faded away from sight, hand in hand with the servant of the Lord of Dreams.

Glorfindel shivered and drew his fur cloak closer about his body. He wondered for how much longer he would have to wait until Lindir returned... assuming the elf did at all. He understood that perhaps only Silmo would return. He understood that he might hear, yet again, but irrevocably this time, that Lindir's fate lay apart from his own.

The afternoon dragged on and he did not move save to eat half of the food – the lunch – that he had bought in the city and brought with them in readiness for an uncertain day outside in the cold.

It was late afternoon when he suddenly saw Lindir reappear, alone, on the other side of the stream. Glorfindel rose and made his way over to him. As he neared, he slowed on seeing the distant, saddened expression in the younger elf's eyes.

“Do you wish to share anything with me about your meeting with him?”

Lindir glanced at him, then lowered his eyes and shook his head. “He said goodbye,” he said. “He is leaving; heading back East. That was all.”

Glorfindel opened his mouth, wanting to say something of comfort, wanting to ease the unhappiness in the other elf's heart...

But what could he say? What did he, in the end, truly know? He closed his mouth and instead, after a moment's thought, held out his hand to the other elf.

“Shall we go back home?” he asked, he invited, he wanted to implore. Although, he had no real idea as to what he himself meant by the word 'home'.

Lindir took his hand, but the elf shook his head to Glorfindel's enquiry. “I want to go back to Mandos,” he said softly.

What, by Iluvatar, was he supposed to say in response to such a statement? To such a declaration of hatred against one's own life? To such... conviction?

“Do me a favour first,” he found himself suddenly saying. He bent his head slightly so that their eyes were level and was gratified when Lindir met his gaze curiously.

“And what would that be?” the smaller elf asked.

Glorfindel smiled faintly at him. “Hold off that thought for a little while, at least until you have finished your duties here.”

“Duties such as?”

“Such as attending Glingal's wedding come Spring. Such as visiting Linden in her house on Tol Eressea. Such as venturing to Aule's halls to see Laiglas. Such as dining with your parents, and Lindo and Gloredhel. Such as singing a duet with your father, Talagant. Such as visiting my parents' old house and helping me to create some happy memories for it. Such as – maybe,” he shrugged slightly, “if the idea is not completely abhorrent to you – keeping me company awhile longer.”

Lindir stared at him. Moments passed. Around them, the linden trees shuddered as another breeze swelled through their naked boughs. Neither elf paid the wind any heed.

Lindir suddenly smiled and Glorfindel felt his hand squeezed gently.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks for reading this story, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> By the way, please let me know if you think a chapter is missing or out of order. I re-posted this story in response to a request by a reader who couldn't find it after lotrfanfiction.com was taken down. I compiled the chapters for their re-post here in a hurry and may have made a mistake so just let me know if you think I've missed a chapter or put one out of order and I'll check for an issue and - if there is one - try to fix it. Take care.


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